
















* 








THE HOG CRUSOE ANH HIS 

MASTER 






CRUSOE ADOPTED THE PLAX OF BARKING FURIOUSLY, AND BITING 
BY RAPID YET TERRIBLE SNAPS AS HE FOUND OPPORTUNITY, 
THUS KEEPING THE BULL ENTIRELY ENGROSSED. 



Bowmaif 5 Illustrated Library of 
World-Favorite Books 


THE DOG CRUSOE 

AND HIS MASTER 

A STORT OF ADVENTURE IN THE 
WESTERN PRAIRIES 


BY 

R. M. BALLANTYNE 

AUTHOR OP “THE CORAL ISLAND,” “THE YOUNO PUR-TRADERS” 
“MARTIN RATTLER,” ETC. 


With Illustrations by H, M. Brock^ RJ. 


New York 

Charles L. Bowman & Co. 

Mercantile Building 
1909 






/ 


) 


f 


I 


9 * 


t 




. \ 
\ 


? 

$ 





4 


f 


y- ' • > 4 ^ 


I 



1 1 


•» 


I 




4 




^ • 



I 


4 



I » 

V 


' 3 H 



• . •■ 

-» X 

4 






^ V 5 

) • ' y • 


■•■i.v ■> ■ 


f 




y' » • 


'. f . 


y ^ ■ /V ♦ 

v . .,c'«s ‘y/ y’v 1-. 








> 



•• i- 

t 

4 


f 

i' 


i 

. X ' 

y ♦ » • 


..4 , 




■V I 

* - *:ygi?ir/ 






r 



I ' 


* . 


■ ^ *> 



V 


« 


f 


t 



✓ 


-^y*' « V 


CONTENTS 


CHAFTEB PAGE 

I. — The Backwoods Settlement 9 

II. — The Shooting Match I9 

III. — Obusoe’s Education Begins 31 

IV. — Grumps 43 

V. — To the Land op the Kedskins 50 

VI. — Night in the Wild Woods 65 

VII. — Crusoe to the Besoue 76 

VIII. — How Dick Won the Race 95 

IX. — An Indian Banquet . . 109 

X.— Crusoe Acts Policeman 120 

XI. — Over the Prairie , , , . 135 

XII. — Chased by Indians 148 

XIII. — Alone 155 

XIV. — Crusoe’s Return 164 

XV. — Dick “ bags ” a Buffalo 171^ 

XVI. — In the Rocky Mountains 186 

XVII. — The Fight with the Bear 197 

XVIII. — News op Job 205 

XIX. — Crusoe Discovers the Prisoners 217 

XX.— With the Fur Traders 229 

XXI.— Henri’s Gallant Deed . . . . 249 

XXII. — Life among the Trappers 262 

XXIII. — The Stampede 269 

XXIV. — An Accident and its Result 284 

XXV. — Dangers of the Prairie 296 

XXVI. — Safe Home 806 

XXVII. — The Feast at the Block House 315 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Bt H. M. brock, R.I. 


Keeping the Bull entirely engrossed . . Frontispiece 

PAGE 

Dick Varley snatched poor Crusoe from his dan- 
gerous AND PAINFUL POSITION 16 

The Hunter caught his Wrist and held it as in a 

Vice 122 

Dick turned in time to see him spring at the Horse’s 

Throat 152 

Its Eider held on like a Burr 182 

The Bear ascended steadily till within a Foot of 

THE Place where Dick stood 200 


Just in time to save a Banattee Indian from being 

STRANGLED BY THE DOG 242 

There was a loud Keport and the noble Horse lay 

STRUGGLING IN DEATH AGONY 292 


THE DOG CEUSOE. 

CHAPTER I. 

The Backwoods Settlement. 

T he dog Crusoe was once a pup. Now do not, 
courteous reader, toss your head contemptuously, 
and exclaim, “ Of course he was ; I could 
have told you that.” You know very well that you 
have often seen a man above six feet high, broad and 
powerful as a lion, with a bronzed shaggy visage and the 
stern glance of an eagle, of whom you have said, or thought, 
or heard others say, “It is scarcely possible to believe 
that such a man was once a squalling baby.” If you 
had seen our hero in all the strength and majesty of full- 
grown doghood, you would have experienced a vague 
sort of surprise had we told you, as we now repeat, that 
the dog Crusoe was once a pup — a soft, round, sprawling, 
squeaking pup, as fat as a tallow candle, and as blind as 
a bat. 


10 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


But we draw particular attention to the fact of Crusoe’s 
having once been a pup, because in connection with the 
days of his puppyhood there hangs a tale. This peculiar 
dog may thus be said to have had two tails — one in con- 
nection with his body, the other with his career. This 
tale, though short, is very harrowing, and as it is inti- 
mately connected with Crusoe’s subsequent history, we 
will relate it here. But J}efore doing so we must beg our 
reader to accompany us beyond the civilized portions of 
the United States of America, beyond the frontier settle- 
ments of the “ far west,” into those wild prairies which 
are watered by the great Missouri River — the Father of 
Waters — and his numerous tributaries. 

Here dwell the Pawnees, the Sioux, the Delawarers, 
the Crows, the Blackfeet, and many other tribes of Red 
Indians, who are gradually retreating step by step 
towards the Rocky Mountains as the advancing white 
man cuts down their trees and ploughs up their prairies. 
Here, too, dwell the wild horse and the wild ass, the deer, 
the buffalo, and^ tjie badger ; all, men and brutes alike, 
wild as the power of untamed and ungovernable passion 
can make them, and free as the wind that sweeps over 
their mighty plains. 

There is a romantic and exquisitely beautiful spot on 
the banks of one of the tributaries above referred to — a 
long stretch of mingled woodland and meadow, with a 
magnificent lake lying like a gem in its green bosom — 
which goes by the name of the Mustang Valley. This remote 
vale, even at the present day, is but thinly peopled by 
white men, and is still a frontier settlement, round which 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


11 


the wolf and bear prowl curiously, and from which the 
startled deer bounds terrified away. At the period of 
which we write, the valley had just been taken possession 
of by several families of squatters, who, tired of the turmoil 
and the squables of the then frontier settlements, had 
pushed boldly into the far west to seek a new home for 
themselves, where they could have “ elbow room,” regard- 
less alike of the dangers they might encounter in unknown 
lands and of the Redskins who dwelt there. 

The squatters were well armed with axes, rifies, and 
ammunition. Most of the women were used to dangers 
and alarms, and placed implicit reliance in the power of 
their fathers, husbands, and brothers to protect them ; 
and well they might, for a bolder set of stalwart men 
than these backwoodsmen never trod the wilderness. 
Each had been trained to the use of the rifie and the axe 
from infancy, and many of them had spent so much of 
their lives in the woods that they were more than a match 
for the Indian in his own peculiar pursuits of hunting 
and war. When the squatters first issued from the woods 
bordering the valley, an immense herd of wild horses or 
mustangs were browsing on the plain. These no sooner 
beheld the cavalcade of white men than, uttering a wild 
neigh, they tossed their flowing manes in the breeze and 
dashed away like a whirlwind. This incident procured 
the valley its name. 

The newcomers gave one satisfied glance at their future 
home, and then set to work to erect log huts forthwith. 
Soon the axe was heard ringing through the forests, and 
tree after tree fell to the ground, while the occasional 


12 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


sharp ring of a rifle told that the hunters were catering 
successfully for the camp. In course of time the 
Mustang Valley began to assume the aspect of a thriving 
settlement, with cottages and waving fields clustered 
together in the midst of it. 

Of course the savages soon found it out and paid it 
occasional visits. These dark-skinned tenants of the 
woods brought furs of wild animals with them, which 
they exchanged with the white men for knives, and beads, 
and baubles and trinkets of brass and tin. But they 
hated the “ Pale-faces ” with bitter hatred, because their 
encroachments had at this time materially curtailed the 
extent of their hunting-grounds, and nothing but the 
numbers and known courage of the squatters prevented 
these savages from butchering and scalping them all. 

The leader of this band of pioneers was a Major Hope, 
a gentleman whose love for nature in its wildest aspects 
determined him to exchange barrack life for a life in the 
woods. The major was a first-rate shot, a bold, fearless 
man, and an enthusiastic naturalist. He was past the 
prime of life, and being a bachelor, was unencumbered 
with a family. His first act on reaching the side of the 
new settlement was to commence the erection of a block- 
house, to which the people might retire in case of a general 
attack by the Indians. 

In this block-house Major Hope took up his abode as 
the guardian of the settlement. And here the dog Crusoe 
was born ; here he sprawled in the early morn of life ; 
here he leaped, and yelped, and wagged his shaggy tail 
in the excessive glee of puppyhood ; and from the wooden 


THE BOG CRUSOE. 


13 


portals of this block-house he bounded forth to the chase 
in all the fire, and strength, and majesty of full-grown 
doghood. 

Crusoe’s father and mother were magnificent Newfound- 
landers. There was no doubt as to their being of the 
genuine breed, for Major Hope had received them as a 
parting gift from a brother officer, who had brought them 
both from Newfoundland itself. The father’s name was 
Crusoe, the mother’s name was Fan. Why the father 
had been so called no one could tell. The man from 
whom Major Hope’s friend had obtained the pair was a 
poor, illiterate fisherman, who had never heard of the 
celebrated “ Robinson ” in all his life. All he knew was 
that Fan had been named after his own wife. As for 
Crusoe, he had got him from a friend, who had got him 
from another friend, whose cousin had received him as a 
marriage-gift from a friend of his : and that each had 
said to the other that the dog’s name was “ Crusoe,” 
without reasons being asked or given on either side. On 
arriving at New York the major’s friend, as we have said, 
made him a present of the dogs. Not being much of a 
dog fancier, he soon got tired of old Crusoe, and gave 
him away to a gentleman, who took him down to Florida, 
and that was the end of him. He was never heard of 
more. 

When Crusoe, junior, was bom, he was born, of course, 
without a name. That was given to him afterwards in 
honour of his father. He was also bom in company 
with a brother and two sisters, all of whom drowned 
themselves accidentally, in the first month of their 


14 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


existence, by falling into the river which flowed past the 
block-house — a calamity which occurred, doubtless, in 
consequence of their having gone out without their 
mother’s leave. Little Crusoe was with his brothers and 
sisters at the time, and fell in along with them, but was 
saved from sharing their fate by his mother, who, seeing 
what had happened, dashed with an agonized howl into 
the water, and, seizing him in her mouth, brought him 
ashore in a half-drowned condition. Soon afterwards she 
brought the others ashore* one by one, but the poor little 
things were dead. 

And now we come to the harrowing part of our tale, 
for the proper understanding of which the foregoing 
dissertation was needful. 

One beautiful afternoon, in that charming season of 
the American year called the Indian summer, there came 
a family of Sioux Indians to the Mustang Valley, and 
pitched their tent close to the block-house. A young 
hunter stood leaning against the gate-post of the palisades, 
watching the movements of the Indians, who, having just 
finished a long “ palaver,” or talk, with Major Hope, were 
now in the act of preparing supper. A fire had been 
kindled on the greensward in front of the tent, and above 
it stood a tripod, from which depended a large tin camp- 
kettle. Over this hung an ill-favoured Indian woman, or 
squaw, who besides attending to the contents of the pot, 
bestowed sundry cufis and kicks upon her little child, 
which sat near to her playing with several Indian ours 
that gambolled round the fire. The master of the family 
and his two sons reclined on buffalo robes, smoking their 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


15 


stone pipes, or calumets, in silence. There was nothing 
peculiar in their apearance. Their faces were neither 
dignified nor coarse in expression, but wore an aspect of 
stupid apathy, which formed a striking contrast to the 
countenance of the young hunter, who seemed an amused 
spectator of their proceedings. 

The youth referred to was very unlike in many respects, 
to what we are accustomed to suppose a backwoods hunter 
should be. He did not possess that quiet gravity and 
staid demeanour which often characterize these men. 
True, he was tall and strongly made, but no one would 
have called him stalwart, and his frame indicated grace 
and agility rather than strength. But the point about 
him which rendered him different from his companions 
was his bounding, irrepressible flow of spirits, strangely 
coupled with an intense love of solitary wandering in 
the woods. None seemed so well fitted for social 
enjoyment as he ; none laughed so heartily, or expressed 
such glee in his mischief-loving eye ; yet for days 
together he went ofi alone into the forest, and wandered 
where his fancy led him, as grave and silent as an 
Indian warrior. 

After all, there was nothing mysterious in this. The 
boy followed implicitly the dictates of nature within him. 
He was amiable, straightforward, sanguine, and intensely 
earnest. When he laughed, he let it out, as sailors have 
it, “ with a will.” When there was good cause to be grave, 
no power on earth could make him smile. We have 
called him boy, but in truth he was about that uncertain 
period of life when a youth is said to be neither a man 


16 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


nor a boy. His face was good-looking {every earnest, 
candid face is) and masculine ; his hair was reddish- 
brown and his eye bright-blue. He was costumed in the 
deerskin cap, leggings, moccasins, and leathern shirt 
common to the western hunter. 

“ You seem tickled wi’ the Injuns, Dick Varley,” said 
a man who at that moment issued from a block-house. 

“ That’s just what I am, Joe Blunt,” replied the youth, 
turning with a broad grin to his companion. 

“ Have a care, lad ; do not laugh at ’em too much. 
They soon take offence ; an’ them Redskins never forgive.” 

“ But I’m only laughing at the baby,” returned the 
youth, pointing to the child, which, with a mixture of 
boldness and timidity, was playing with a pup, wrinkling 
up its fat visage into a smile when its playmate rushed 
away in sport, and opening its wide jet-black eyes in 
grave anxiety as the pup returned at full gallop. 

“ It ’ud make an owl laugh,” continued young Varley, 
“ to see such a pictur’ o’ itself.” 

He paused suddenly, and a dark frown covered his 
face as he saw the Indian woman stoop down, catch the 
pup by its hind-leg with one hand, seize a heavy piece of 
wood with the other, and strike it several blows on the 
throat. Without taking the trouble to kill the poor 
animal outright, the savage then held its still writhing 
body over the fire in order to singe off the hair before 
putting it into the pot to be cooked. 

The cruel act drew young Varley’s attention more closely 
to the pup, and it flashed across his mind that this could 
be no other than young Crusoe, which neither he nor his 



DICK VAKLP^Y SXATCHED POOR CRUSOE FROM 11 IS DANGEROUS ANI> 
PAINFUL POSITION, SCOWLING ANGRILY IN THE WOMAN S FACE. 





< • 



<• 


1 , 




%• 








I fc4 



THE DOG CRUSOE. 17 

companion had before seen, although they had often 
heard others speak of and describe it. 

Had the little creature been one of the unfortunate 
Indian curs, the two hunters would probably have turned 
from the sickening sight with disgust, feeling that, how- 
ever much they might dislike such cruelty, it would be of 
no use attempting to interfere with Indian usages. But 
the instant the idea that it was Crusoe occurred to Varley 
he uttered a yell of anger, and sprang towards the woman 
with a bound that caused the three Indians to leap to their 
feet and grasp their tomahawks. 

Blunt did not move from the gate, but threw forward 
his rifle with a careless motion, but an expressive glance, 
that caused the Indians to resume their seats and pipes 
with an emphatic “ Wah ! ” of disgust at having been 
startled out of their propriety by a trifle ; while Dick 
Varley snatched poor Crusoe from his dangerous and pain- 
ful position, scowled angrily in the woman’s face, and 
turning on his heel, walked up to the house, holding the 
pup tenderly in his arms. 

Joe Blunt gazed after his friend with a grave, solemn 
expression of countenance till he disappeared ; then he 
looked at the ground, and shook his head. 

Joe was one of the regular out-and-out backwoods 
hunters, both in appearance and in fact — broad, tall, 
massive, lion-like ; gifted with the hunting, stalking, 
running, and trail-following powers of the savage, and 
with a superabundance of the shooting and fighting 
powers, the daring and dash of the Anglo-Saxon. He was 
grave, too — seldom smiled, and rarely laughed. His ex- 
2 


18 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


pression almost at all times was a compound of seriousness 
and good-humour. With the rifle he was a good, steady 
shot, but by no means a “ crack ” one. His ball never 
failed to hit, but it often failed to kill. 

After meditating a few seconds, Joe Blunt again shook 
his head, and muttered to himself, “ The boy’s bold 
enough, but he’s too reckless for a hunter. There was 
no need for that yell, now — none at all.” 

Having uttered this sagacious remark, he threw his rifle 
into the hollow of his left arm, turned round, and strode 
off with a long, slow step towards his own cottage. 

Blunt was an American by birth, but of Irish extraction 
and to an attentive ear there was a faint echo of the brogue 
in his tone, which seemed to have been handed down to 
him as a threadbare and almost worn-out heirloom. 

Poor Crusoe was singed almost naked. His wretched 
tail seemed little better than a piece of wire flled off to a 
point, and he vented his misery in piteous squeaks as the 
sympathetic Varley confided him tenderly to the care of 
his mother. How Fan managed to cure him no one can 
tell, but cure him she did, for in the course of a few weeks 
Crusoe was as well and sleek and fat as ever. 


CHAPTER II. 


A Shooting Match. 

QHORTLY after the incident narrated in the last 
chapter the squatters of the Mustang Valley lost 
their leader. Major Hope suddenly announced his 
intention of quitting the settlement and returning to the 
civilized world. Private matters, he said, required his 
presence there — matters which he did not choose to speak 
of, but which would prevent his returning again to reside 
among them. Go he must, and, being a man of deter- 
mination, go he did ; but before going he distributed all 
his goods and chattels among the settlers. He even gave 
away his rifle, and Fan and Crusoe. These last, however, 
he resolved should go together ; and as they were well 
worth having, he announced that he would give them to 
the best shot in the valley. He stipulated that the winner 
should escort him to the nearest settlement eastward, after 
which he might return with the rifle on his shoulder. 

Accordingly, a long level piece of ground on the river’s 
bank, with a perpendicular clifl at the end of it, was 


20 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


selected as the shooting-ground, and, on the appointed 
day, at the appointed hour, the competitors began to 
assemble. 

“ Well, lad, first as usual,’’ exclaimed Joe Blunt, as he 
reached the ground and found Dick Varley there before 
him. 

“I’ve bin here more than an hour lookin’ for a new 
kind o’ flower that Jack Morgan told me he’d seen. And 
I’ve found it too. Look here ; did you ever see one like 
it before ? ” 

Blunt leaned his rifle against a tree, and carefully 
examined the flower. 

“ Why, yes, I’ve seed a-many o’ them up about the 
Rocky Mountains, but never one here-away. It seems to 
have gone lost itself. The last I seed, if I remimber 
rightly, wos near the head- waters o’ Yellowstone River, it 
wos — jest where I shot a grizzly bar.” 

“ Was that the bar that gave you the wipe on the 
cheek ? ” asked Varley, forgetting the flower in his in- 
terest about the bear. 

“ It wos. I put six balls in that bar’s carcass, and 
stuck my knife into its heart ten times, afore it gave out ; 
an’ it nearly ripped the shirt off my back afore I wos 
done with it.” 

“ I would give my rifle to get a chance at a grizzly ! ” 
exclaimed Varley, with a sudden burst of enthusiasm. 

“ Whoever got it wouldn’t have much to brag of,” re- 
marked a burly young backwoodsman, as he joined them. 

His remark was true, for poor Dick’s weapon was but a 
sorry affair. It missed fire, and it hung fire ; and even 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


21 


when it did fire it remained a matter of doubt in its owner’s 
mind whether the slight deviations from the direct line 
made by his bullets were the result of his or its bad shooting. 

Further comment upon it was checked by the arrival 
of a dozen or more hunters on the scene of action. They 
were a sturdy set of bronzed, bold, fearless men, and one 
felt, on looking at them, that they would prove more than 
a match for several hundreds of Indians in open fight. A 
few minutes after, the major himself came on the ground 
with the prize rifie on his shoulder, and Fan and Crusoe 
at his heels — the latter tumbling, scrambling, and yelping 
after its mother, fat and clumsy, and happy as possible, 
having evidently quite forgotten that it had been nearly 
roasted alive only a few weeks before. 

Immediately all eyes were on the rifle, and its merits 
were discussed with animation. 

And well did it deserve discussion, for such a piece had 
never before been seen on the western frontier. It was 
shorter in the barrel and larger in the bore than the weapons 
chiefly in vogue at that time, and, besides being of beautiful 
workmanship, was silver-mounted. But the grand pecu- 
liarity about it, and that which afterwards rendered it the 
mystery of mysteries to the savages, was that it had two 
sets of locks — one percussion, the other flint — so that, 
when caps failed, by taking off the one set of locks and 
affixing the others, it was converted into a flint rifle. 
The major, however, took care never to run short of caps, 
so that the flint locks were merely held as a reserve in 
case of need. 

“Now, lads,” cried Major Hope, stepping up to the 


22 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


point whence they were to shoot, “ remember the terms. 
He who first drives the nail obtains the rifle, Fan, and her 
pup, and accompanies me to the nearest settlement. 
Each man shoots with his own gun, and draws lots for 
the chance.” 

“ Agreed,” cried the men. 

“ Well, then, wipe your guns and draw lots. Henri will 
fix the nail. Here it is.” 

The individual who stepped, or rather plunged forward 
to receive the nail was a rare and remarkable specimen of 
mankind. Like his comrades, he was half a farmer and 
half a hunter. Like them, too, he was clad in deerskin, 
and was tall and strong — nay, more, he was gigantic. 
But, unlike them, he was clumsy, awkward, loose- jointed, 
and a bad shot. Nevertheless Henri was an immense 
favourite in the settlement, for his good-humour knew no 
bounds. No one ever saw him frown. Even when fight- 
ing with the savages, as he was sometimes compelled to 
do in self-defence, he went at them with a sort of jovial 
rage that was almost laughable. Inconsiderate reckless- 
ness was one of his chief characteristics, so that his com- 
rades were rather afraid of him on the war-trail or in the 
hunt, where caution, and frequently, soundless motion 
was essential to success or safety. But when Henri had 
a comrade at his side to check him he was safe enough, 
being humble-minded and obedient. Men used to say he 
must have been borne under a lucky star, for, notwith- 
standing his natural inaptitude for all sorts of backwoods 
life, he managed to scramble through everything with 
safety, often with success, and sometimes with credit. 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


23 


To see Henri stalk a deer was worth a long day’s journey. 
Joe Blunt used to say he was “all jints together, from 
the top of his head to the sole of his moccasin.” He threw 
his immense form into the most inconceivable contortions, 
and slowly wound his way, sometimes on hands and knees, 
sometimes flat, through bush and brake, as if there was 
not a bone in his body, and without the slightest noise. 
This sort of work was so much against his plunging nature 
that he took long to learn it ; but when, through hard 
practice and the loss of many a fine deer, he came at 
length to break himself in to it, he gradually progressed 
to perfection, and ultimately became the best stalker in 
the valley. This, and this alone, enabled him to procure 
game, for, being short-sighted, he could hit nothing beyond 
fifty yards, except a buffalo or a barn-door. 

Yet that same lithe body, which seemed as though 
totally unhinged, could no more be bent, when the muscles 
were strung, than an iron post. No one wrestled with 
Henri unless he wished to have his back broken. Few 
could equal and none could beat him at rimning or leaping 
except Dick Varley. When Henri ran a race even Joe 
Blunt laughed outright, for arms and legs went like in- 
dependent flails. When he leaped, he hurled himself into 
space with a degree of violence that seemed to insure a 
somersault ; yet he always came down with a crash on 
his feet. Plunging was Henri’s forte. He generally 
lounged about the settlement when unoccupied, with his 
hands behind his back, apparently in a reverie, and when 
called on to act, he seemed to fancy he must have lost 
time, and could only make up for it by plunging. This 


24 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


habit got him into many awkward scrapes, but his herculean 
power as often got him out of them. He was a French- 
Canadian, and a particularly bad speaker of the English 
language. 

We offer no apology for this elaborate introduction of 
Henri, for he was as good-hearted a fellow as ever lived, 
and deserves special notice. 

But to return. The sort of rifle practice called “ driving 
the nail,” by which this match was to be decided, was, 
and we believe still is, common among the hunters of the 
far west. It consisted in this : an ordinary large-headed 
nail was driven a short way into a plank or a tree, and the 
hunters, standing at a distance of fifty yards or so, fired 
at it until they succeeded in driving it home. On the pre- 
sent occasion the major resolved to test their shooting by 
making the distance seventy yards. 

Some of the older men shook their heads. 

“Tt’s too far,” said one ; “ ye might as well try to 
snuff the nose o’ a mosquito.” 

“ Jim Scraggs is the only man as’ll hit that,” said 
another. 

The man referred to was a long, lank, lantern- jawed 
fellow, with a cross-grained expression of countenance. 
He used the long, heavy Kentucky rifle, which, from the 
ball being little larger than a pea, was called a pea-rifle. 
Jim was no favourite, and had been named Scraggs by 
his companions on account of his appearance. 

In a few minutes the lots were drawn, and the shooting 
began. Each hunter wiped out the barrel of his piece 
with his ramrod as he stepped forward ; then^ placing a 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


25 


ball in the palm of his left hand, he drew the stopper of 
his powder-horn with his teeth, and poured out as much 
powder as sufficed to cover the bullet. This was the 
regular measure among them. Little time was lost in 
firing, for these men did not “ hang ” on their aim. The 
point of the rifle was slowly raised to the object, and the 
instant the sight covered it the ball sped to its mark. 
In a few minutes the nail was encircled by bullet holes, 
scarcely two of which were more than an inch distant 
from the mark, and one — fired by Joe Blunt — entered the 
tree close beside it. 

“ Ah, Joe ! ” said the major, “ I thought you would have 
carried ofi the prize.” 

“ So did not I, sir,” returned Blunt, with a shake of 
his head. “ Had it a-bin a half-dollar at a hundred yards, 
I’d ha’ done better, but I never could hit the nail. It’s 
too small to sec.” 

“ That’s cos ye’ve got no eyes,” remarked Jim Scraggs, 
with a sneer, as he stepped forward. 

All tongues were now hushed, for the expected champion 
was about to fire. The sharp crack of the rifle was followed 
by a shout, for Jim had hit the nail-head on the edge, 
and part of the bullet stuck to it. 

“ That wins if there’s no better,” said the major, scarce 
able to conceal his disappointment. “ Who comes next ? ” 

To this question Henri answered by stepping up to the 
line, straddling his legs, and executing preliminary move- 
ments with his rifle, that seemed to indicate an intention 
on his part to throw the weapon bodily at the mark. He 
was received with a shout of mingled laughter and applause. 


26 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


After gazing steadily at the mark for a few seconds, a 
broad grin overspread his countenance, and looking round 
at his companions, he said, — 

“ Ha ! mes boys, I can-not behold de nail at all ! ’* 

“ Can ye ‘ behold ’ the tree ? ” shouted a voice, when 
the laugh that followed this announcement had somewhat 
abated. 

“Oh ! oui,” replied Henri quite coolly ; “ I can see 
him, an’ a good small bit of de forest beyond.” 

“ Fire at it, then. If ye hit the tree ye desarve the 
rifle, leastways ye ought to get the pup.” 

Henri grinned again, and fired instantly, without taking 
aim. 

The shot was followed by an exclamation of surprise, 
for the bullet was found close beside the nail. 

. “ It’s more be good luck than good shootin’,” remarked 
Jim Scraggs. 

“ Possiblement,” answered Henri modestly, as he re- 
treated to the rear and wiped out his rifle ; “ mais I have 
kill most of my deer by dat same goot luck.” 

“ Bravo, Henri ! ” said Major Hope as he passed ; 
“ you deserve to win, anyhow. Who’s next ? ” 

“ Dick Varley,” cried several voices. “ Where’s Varley ? 
Come on, youngster, an’ take yer shot.” 

The youth came forward with evident reluctance. “ It’s 
of no manner o’ use,” he whispered to Joe Blunt as he 
passed ; “ I can’t depend on my old gun.” 

“ Never give in,” whispered Blunt encouragingly. 

Poor Varley’s want of confidence in his rifle was merited, 
for, on pulling the trigger, the faithless lock missed fire. 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


27 


“ Lend him another gun,” cried several voices. 

“ ’Gainst rules laid down by Major Hope,” said Scraggs. 

“ Well, so it is ; try again.” 

Varley did try again, and so successfully, too, that the 
ball hit the nail on the head, leaving a portion of the lead 
sticking to its edge. 

Of course this was greeted with a cheer, and a loud 
dispute began as to which was the better shot of the two. 

“ There are others to shoot yet,” cried the major. 
“ Make way. Look out.” 

The men fell back, and the few hunters who had not 
yet fired took their shots, but without coming nearer the 
mark. 

It was now agreed that Jim Scraggs and Dick Varley, 
being the best two shots, should try over again, and it 
was also agreed that Dick should have the use of Blunt’s 
rifie. Lots were drawn for the first shot, and it fell to 
Dick, who immediately stepped out, aimed somewhat 
hastily, and fired. 

“ Hit again ! ” shouted those who had run forward to 
examine the mark. “ Half the bullet cut off by the nail 
head ! ” 

Some of the more enthusiastic of Dick’s friends cheered 
lustily, but the most of the hunters were grave and silent, 
for they knew Jim’s powers, and felt that he would cer- 
tainly do his best. Jim now stepped up to the line, and, 
looking earnestly at the mark, threw forward his rifle. 

At that moment our friend Crusoe, tired of tormenting 
his mother, waddled stupidly and innocently into the 
midst of the crowd of men, and in so doing received Henri’s 


28 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


heel and the full weight of his elephantine body on its 
fore paw. The horrible and electric yell that instantly 
issued from his agonized throat could only be compared, 
as Joe Blunt expressed it, “ to the last dyin’ screech o’ a 
bustin’ steam biler ! ” We cannot say that the effect was 
startling, for these backwoodsmen had been born and bred 
in the midst of alarms, and were so used to them that a 
“ bustin’ steam biler ” itself, unless it had blown them 
fairly off their legs, would not have startled them. But 
the effect, such as it was, was sufficient to disconcert the 
aim of Jim Scraggs, who fired at the same instant, and 
missed the nail by a hair’s-breadth. 

Turning round in towering wrath, Scraggs aimed a kick 
at the poor pup, which, had it taken effect, would cer- 
tainly have terminated the innocent existence of that 
remarkable dog on the spot ; but quick as lightning Henri 
interposed the butt of his rifle, and Jim’s shin met it with 
a violence that caused him to howl with rage and pain. 

“ Oh ! pardon me, broder,” cried Henri, shrinking 
back, with the drollest expression of mingled pity and glee. 

Jim’s discretion, on this occasion, was superior to his 
valour ; he turned away with a coarse expression of anger 
and left the ground. 

Meanwhile the major handed the silver rifle to young 
Varley. “ It couldn’t have fallen into better hands.” he 
said. “ You’ll do it credit, lad, I know that full well ; 
and let me assure you that it will never play you false. 
Only keep it clean, don’t overcharge it, aim true, and it 
will never miss the mark.” 

While the hunters crowded round Dick to congratulate 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


29 


him and examine the piece, he stood with a mingled feeling 
of bashfulness and delight at his unexpected good fortune. 
Recovering himself suddenly, he seized his old rifle, and 
dropping quietly to the outskirts of the crowd, while the 
men were still busy handling and discussing the merits of 
the prize, went up, unobserved, to a boy of about thirteen 
years of age, and touched him on the shoulder. 

“ Here, Marston, you know I often said ye should have 
the old rifle when I was rich enough to get a new one. 
Take it now^ lad. It’s come to ye sooner than either of 
us expected.” 

“ Dick,” said the boy, grasping his friend’s hand warmly, 

‘ ‘ ye’re true as heart of oak. It’s good of ’ee, that’s a fact.” 

“ Not a bit, boy ; it costs me nothin’ to give away an 
old gun that I’ve no use for, an’s worth little, but it makes 
me right glad to have the chance to do it.” 

Marston had longed for a rifle ever since he could walk ; 
but his prospects of obtaining one were very poor indeed 
at that time, and it is a question whether he did not at 
that moment experience as much joy in handling the old 
piece as his friend felt in shouldering the prize. 

A difficulty now occurred which had not before been 
thought of. This was no less than the absolute refusal of 
Dick Varley’s canine property to follow him. Fan had 
no idea of changing masters without her consent being 
asked or her inclination being consulted. 

“ You’ll have to tie her up for a while, I fear,” said 
the major. 

“ No fear,” answered the youth. “ Dog natur’s like 
human natur’ ! ” 


30 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


Saying this he seized Crusoe by the n«ck, stuffed him 
comfortably into the bosom of his hunting-shirt, and walked 
• rapidly away with the prize rifle on his shoulder. 

Fan had not bargained for this. She stood irresolute, 
gazing now to the right and now to the left, as the major 
retired in one direction and Dick and Crusoe in another. 
Suddenly Crusoe, who, although comfortable in body, was 
ill at ease in spirit, gave utterance to a melancholy howl. 
The mother’s love instantly prevailed. For one moment 
she pricked up her ears at the sound, and then, lowering 
them, trotted quietly after her new master, and followed 
him to his cottage on the margin of the lake. 


t 


CHAPTER IIL 

Ceusoe’s Education Begins. 

TT is pleasant to look upon a serene, quiet, humble 
face. On such a face did Richard Varley look every 
night when he entered his mother’s cottage. Mrs. 
Varley was a widow, and she had followed the fortunes of 
her brother, Daniel Hood, even since the death of her 
husband. Love for her only brother induced her to 
forsake the peaceful village of Maryland and enter upon 
the wild life of a backwoods settlement. Dick’s mother 
was thin, and old, and wrinkled, but her face was stamped 
with a species of beauty which never fades — the beauty 
of a loving look. Ah ! the brow of snow and the peach- 
bloom cheek may snare the heart of man for a time, but 
the loving look alone can forge that adamantine chain that 
time, age, eternity shall never break. 

Mistake us not, reader, and bear with us if we attempt 
to analyze this look which characterized Mrs. Varley. 
A rare diamond is worth stopping to glance at, even when 
one is in a hurry. The brightest jewel in the human 


32 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


heart is worth a thought or two. By a loving look we do 
not mean a look of love bestowed on a beloved object. 
That is common enough ; and thankful should we be that it 
is so common in a world that’s overfull of hatred. Still 
less do we mean that smile and look of intense affection 
with which some peqple — good people too — greet friend 
and foe alike, and by which effort to work out their beau 
ideal of the expression of Christian love they do signally 
damage their cause, by saddening the serious and repelling 
the gay. Much less do we mean that perpetual smile of 
good-will which argues more of personal comfort and self- 
love than anything else. No ; the loving look we speak 
of is as often grave as gay. Its character depends very 
much on the face through which it beams. And it cannot 
be counterfeited. Its ring defies imitation. Like the 
clouded sun of April, it can pierce through tears of 
sorrow ; like the noontide sun of summer, it can blaze in 
warm smiles ; hke the northern lights of winter, it can 
gleam in depths of woe ; — but it is always the same, 
modified, doubtless, and rendered more or less patent to 
others, according to the natural amiability of him or her 
who bestows it. No one can put it on ; still less can any 
one put it off. Its range is universal ; it embraces all 
mankind, though, of course, it is intensified on a few 
favoured objects ; its seat is in the depths of a renewed 
heart, and its foundation lies in love to God. 

Young Varley’s mother lived in a cottage which was of 
the smallest possible dimensions consistent with comfort. 
It was made of logs, as, indeed, were all the other cot- 
tages in the valley. The door was in the centre, and a 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


33 


passage from it to the back of the dwelling divided it into 
two rooms. One of these was subdivided by a thin par- 
tition, the inner room being Mrs. Varley’s bedroom, the 
outer Dick’s. Daniel Hood’s dormitory was a comer of 
the kitchen, which apartment served also as a parlour. 

The rooms were lighted by two windows, one on each 
side of the door, which gave to the house the appearance 
of having a nose and two eyes. Houses of this kind have 
literally got a sort of expression on — if we may use the 
word — their countenances. Square windows give the 
appearance of easy-going placidity ; longish ones, that of 
surprise; Mrs. Varley’s was a surprise cottage ; and 
this was in keeping with the scene in which it stood, for 
the clear lake in front, studded with islands, and the 
distant hills beyond, composed a scene so surprisingly 
beautiful that it never failed to call forth an expression 
of astonished admiration from every new visitor to the 
Mustang Valley. 

“ My boy,” exclaimed Mrs. Varley, as her son entered 
the cottage with a bound, “ why so hurried to-day ? 
Deary me ! where got you the grand gun ? ” 

“ Won it, mother ! ” 

“ Won it, my son ? ” 

“Ay, won it, mother. Druve the nail almost, and 
would ha’ druve it altogether had I bin more used to Joe 
Blunt’s rifle.” 

Mrs. Varley’s heart beat high, and her face flushed with 
pride as she gazed at her son, who laid the rifle on the 
table for her inspection, while he rattled off an animated 
and somewhat disjointed account of the match. 

3 


34 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


“ Deary me ! now that was good, that was diver. 
But what’s that scraping at the door ? ” 

“ Oh ! that’s Fan ; I forgot her. Here ! here ! Fan ! 
Come in, good dog,” he cried, rising and opening the 
door. 

Fan entered and stopped short, evidently uncomfortable. 

“ My boy, what do ye with the major’s dog ? ” 

“ Won her too, mother ! ” 

“ Won her, my son ? ” 

“ Ay, won her, and the pup too ; see, here it is ! ” and 
he plucked Crusoe from his bosom. 

Crusoe having found his position to be one of great 
comfort had fallen into a profound slumber, and on being 
thus unceremoniously awakened he gave forth a yelp of 
discontent that brought Fan in a state of frantic sympathy 
to his side. 

“ There you are. Fan ; take it to a corner and make 
yourself at home. Ay, that’s right, mother ; give her 
somethin’ to eat. She’s hungry ; I know by the look 
o’ her eye.” 

“ Deary me, Dick ! ” said Mrs. Varley, who now pro- 
ceeded to spread the youth’s midday meal before him, 
“ did ye drive the nail three times ? ” 

“ No ; only once, and that not parfetly. Brought ’em 
all down at one shot — rifle. Fan, an’ pup ! ” 

“Well, well, now that was diver ; but — ” Here the 
old woman paused and looked grave. 

“ But what, mother ? ” 

“ You’ll be wantin’ to go off to the mountains now, 1 
fear me, boy.” 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


35 


Wantin’ vow ! ” exclaimed the youth earnestly ; “ I’m 
always wantin’. I’ve been wantin’ ever since I could 
walk ; but I won’t go till you let me, mother, that I 
won’t ! ” And he struck the table with his fist so forcibly 
that the platters rung again. 

“ You’re a good boy, Dick ; but you’re too young yit 
to ventur’ among the Redskins.” 

“ And yit, if I don’t ventur’ young, I’d better not 
ventur’ at all. You know, mother dear, I don’t want 
to leave you ; but I was bom to be a hunter, and every- 
body in them parts is a hunter, and I can’t hunt in the 
kitchen, you know, mother ! ” 

At this point the conversation was interrupted by a 
sound that caused young Varley to spring up and seize 
his rifle, and Fan to show her teeth and growl. 

Hist, mother ! that’s like horses’ hoofs,” he whispered, 
opening the door, and gazing intently in the direction 
whence the sound came. 

Louder and louder it came, until an opening in the 
forest showed the advancing cavalcade to be a party of 
white men. In another moment they were in full view — 
a band of about thirty horsemen, clad in the leathern 
costume, and armed with the long rifle of the far west. 
Some wore portions of the gaudy Indian dress, which gave 
to them a brilliant, dashing look. They came on straight 
for the block-house, and saluted the Varley s with a jovial 
cheer as they swept past at full speed. Dick returned 
the cheer with compound interest, and calling out, 
“ They’re trappers, mother ; I’ll be back in an hour,” 
bounded off like a deer through the woods, taking a short 


36 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


cut in order to reach the block-house before them. He 
succeeded, for, just as he arrived at the house, the caval- 
cade wheeled round the bend in the river, dashed up the 
slope, and came to a sudden halt on the green. Vaulting 
from their foaming steeds, they tied them to the stockade 
of the little fortress, which they entered in a body. 

Hot haste was in every motion of these men. They 
were trappers, they said, on their way to the Rocky 
Mountains to hunt and trade furs. But one of their 
number had been treacherously murdered and scalped 
by a Pawnee chief, and they resolved to revenge his death 
by an attack on one of the Pawnee villages. They would 
teach these “ red reptiles ” to respect white men, they 
would, come of it what might ; and they had turned aside 
here to procure an additional supply of powder and lead. 

In vain did the major endeavour to dissuade these 
reckless men from their purpose. They scoffed at the 
idea of returning good for evil, and insisted on being 
supplied. The log hut was a store as well as a place of 
defence, and as they offered to pay for it, there was no 
refusing their request — at least, so the major thought. 
The ammunition was therefore given to them, and in 
half an hour they were away again at full gallop over 
the plains on their mission of vengeance. “ Vengeance 
is Mine ; I will repay, saith the Lord.” But these men 
knew not what God said, because they never read his 
Word and did not own His sway. 

Young Varley’s enthusiasm was considerably damped 
when he learned the errand on which the trappers were 
bent. From that time forward he gave up all desire to 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


37 


visit the mountains in company with such men, but he still 
retained an intense longing to roam at large among their 
rocky fastnesses and gallop out upon the wide prairies. 

Meanwhile he dutifully tended his mother’s cattle and 
sheep, and contented himself with an occasional deer- 
hunt in the neighbouring forests. He devoted himself 
also to the training of his dog Crusoe — an operation which 
at first cost him many a deep sigh. 

Every one has heard of the sagacity and almost reasoning 
capabilities of the Newfoundland dog. Indeed, some have 
even gone the length of saying that what is called instinct 
in these animals is neither more nor less than reason. 
And in truth many of the noble, heroic, and sagacious 
deeds that have actually been performed by Newfound- 
land dogs, incline us almost to believe that, like man, 
they are gifted with reasoning powers. 

But every one does not know the trouble and patience 
that is required in order to get a juvenile dog to under- 
stand what its master means when he is endeavouring 
to instruct it. 

Crusoe’s first lesson was an interesting but not a very 
successful one. We may remark here that Dick Varley 
had presented Fan to his mother to be her watch- dog, 
resolving to devote all his powers to the training of the 
pup. We may also remark, in reference to Crusoe’s 
appearance (and we did not remark it sooner, chiefly 
because up to this period in his eventful history he was 
little better than a ball of fat and hair), that his coat 
was mingled jet-black and pure white, and remarkably 
glossy, curly, and thick. 


38 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


A week after the shooting-match, Crusoe’s education 
began. Having fed him for that period with his own 
hand, in order to gain his affection, Dick took him out 
one sunny forenoon to the margin of the lake to give him 
his first lesson. 

And here again we must pause to remark that, although 
a dog’s heart is generally gained in the first instance 
through his mouth, yet, after it is thoroughly gained, 
his affection is noble and disinterested. He can scarcely 
be driven from his master’s side by blows ; and even 
when thus harshly repelled, is always ready, on the 
shortest notice and with the slightest encouragement, to 
make it up again. 

Well, Dick Varley began by calling out, “ Crusoe ! 
Crusoe ! come here, pup.” 

Of course Crusoe knew his name by this time, for it 
had been so often used as a prelude to his meals, that he 
naturally expected a feed whenever he heard it. This 
portal to his brain had already been open for some days ; 
but all the other doors were fast locked, and it required 
a great deal of careful picking to open them. 

“ Now. Crusoe, come here.” 

Crusoe bounded clumsily to his master’s side, cocked 
his ears, and wagged his tail ; so far his education was 
perfect. We say he bounded clumsily^ for it must be 
remembered that he was still a very young pup, with 
soft, flabby muscles. 

“ Now, I’m goin’ to begin yer edication, pup ; think 
o’ that.” 

Whether Crusoe thought of that or not we caimot say. 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


39 


but he looked up in his master’s face as he spoke, cocked 
his ears very high, and turned his head slowly to one 
side, until it could not turn any farther in that direction ; 
then he turned it as much to the other side ; whereat 
his master burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, 
and Crusoe immediately began barking vociferously. 

“ Come, come,” said Dick, suddenly checking his mirth ; 
“ we mustn’t play, pup — we must work.” 

Drawing a leathern mitten from his belt, the youth 
held it to Crusoe’s nose, and then threw it a yard away, 
at the same time exclaiming in a loud, distinct tone, 
“ Fetch it.” 

Crusoe entered at once into the spirit of this part of 
his training ; he dashed gleefully at the mitten, and 
proceeded to worry it with intense gratification. As for 
“ Fetch it,” he neither understood the words nor cared 
a straw about them. 

Dick Varley rose immediately, and rescuing the mitten, 
resumed his seat on a rock. 

“ Come here, Crusoe,” he repeated. 

“ Oh ! certainly, by all means,” said Crusoe — no ! he 
didn’t exactly say it, but really he looked these words so 
evidently that we think it right to let them stand as 
they are written. If he could have finished the sentence, 
he would certainly have said, “Go on with that game 
over again, old boy ; it’s quite to my taste — the jolliest 
thing in life, I assure you ! ” At least, if we may not 
positively assert that he would have said that, no one 
else can absolutely affirm that he wouldn’t. 

Well Dick Varley did do it over again, and Crusoe 


40 THE DOG CRUSOE. 

worried the mitten over again, utterly regardless of 
“Fetch it.” 

They did it again, and again, and again, but without 
the slightest apparent advancement in the path of canine 
knowledge ; and then they went home. 

During all this trying operation Dick Varley never once 
betrayed the slightest feeling of irritability or impatience. 
He did not expect success at first ; he was not therefore 
disappointed at failure. 

Next day he had him out again — and the next — ^and 
the next — and the next again, with the like unfavourable 
result. In short, it seemed at last as if Crusoe’s mind 
had been deeply imbued with the idea that he had been 
born expressly for the purpose of worrying that mitten, 
and he meant to fulfil his destiny to the letter. 

Young Varley had taken several small pieces of meat 
in his pocket each day, with the intention of rewarding 
Crusoe when he should at length be prevailed on to fetch 
the mitten ; but as Crusoe was not aware of the treat 
that awaited him, of course the mitten never was 
“ fetched.” 

At last Dick Varley saw that this system would never 
do, so he changed his tactics, and the next morning gave 
Crusoe no breakfast, but took him out at the usual hour 
to go through his lesson. This new course of conduct 
seemed to perplex Crusoe not a little, for on his way down 
to the beach he paused frequently, and looked back at 
the cottage, and then expressively up at his master’s 
face. But the master was inexorable ; he went on, and 
Crusoe followed, for true love had now taken possession 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 41 

of the pup’s young heart, and he preferred his master’s 
company to food. 

Varley now began by letting the learner smell a piece 
of meat, which he eagerly sought to devour, but was 
prevented, to his immense disgust. Then the mitten was 
thrown as heretofore, and Crusoe made a few steps towards 
it, but being in no mood for play he turned back. 

“ Fetch it,” said the teacher. 

“ I won’t,” replied the learner mutely, by means of 
that expressive sign — not doing it. 

Hereupon Dick Varley rose, took up the mitten, and 
put it into the pup’s mouth. Then, retiring a couple of 
yards, he held out the piece of meat and said, “ Fetch it.” 

Crusoe instantly spat out the glove and bounded towards 
the meat — once more to be disappointed. 

This was done a second time, and Crusoe came forward 
with the mitten in his mouth. It seemed as if it had been 
done accidentally, for he dropped it before coming quite 
up. If so, it was a fortunate accident, for it served as 
the tiny fulcrum on which to place the point of that 
mighty lever which was destined ere long to raise him to 
the pinnacle of canine erudition. Dick Varley immedi. 
ately lavished upon him the tenderest caresses, and gave 
him a lump of meat. But he quickly tried it again, lest 
he should lose the lesson. The dog evidently fdt that 
that if he did not fetch that mitten he should have no 
meat or caresses. In order, however, to make sure that 
there was no mistake, Dick laid the mitten down beside 
the pup, instead of putting it into his mouth, and, retiring 
a few paces, cried, “ Fetch it.” 


42 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


Crusoe looked uncertain for a moment, then he picked 
up the mitten and laid it at his master’s feet. The lesson 
was learned at last ! Dick Varley tumbled all the meat 
out of his pocket on the ground, and, while Crusoe made 
a hearty breakfast, he sat down on a rock and whistled 
with glee at having fairly picked the lock, and opened 
another door into one of the many chambers of his dog’s 
intellect. 


CHAPTER IV, 


Grumps. 


^ I ''WO years passed away. The Mustang Valley settle- 
ment advanced prosperously, despite one or two 
attacks made upon it by the savages, who were, how- 
ever, firmly repelled. Dick Varley had now become a man, 
and his pup Crusoe had become a full-grown dog. The 
“ silver rifie,” as Dick’s weapon had come to be named, 
was well known among the hunters, and the Redskins 
of the border-lands, and in Dick’s hands its bullets were 
as deadly as its owner’s eye was quick and true. 

Crusoe’s education, too, had been completed. Faithfully 
and patiently had his young master trained his mind, 
until he fitted him to be a meet companion in the hunt. 
To “ carry ” and “ fetch ” were now but trifling portions 
of the dog’s accomplishments. He could dive a fathom 
deep in the lake and bring up any article that might have 
been dropped or thrown in. His swimming powers were 
marvellous, and so powerful were his muscles that he seemed 
to spurn the water while passing through it, with his 


44 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


broad chest high out of the curling wave, at a speed that 
neither man nor beast could keep up with for a moment. 
His intellect now was sharp and quick as a needle ; he 
never requu’ed a second bidding. When Dick went out 
hunting, he used frequently to drop a mitten or a powder- 
horn, unknown to the dog, and after walking miles away 
from it, would stop short and look down into the mild 
gentle face of his companion. 

“ Crusoe,” he said, in the same quiet tones with which 
he would have addressed a human friend, “ I dropped 
my mitten ; go and fetch it, pup.” Dick continued to 
call it “ pup ” from habit. 

One glance of intelligence passed from Crusoe’s eye, 
and in a moment he was away at full gallop, nor did he 
rest until the lost article was lying at his master’s feet* 
Dick was loath to try how far back on his track Crusoe 
would run if desired. He had often gone back five and 
six miles at a stretch ; but his powers did not stop here. 
He could carry articles back to the spot from which they 
had been taken and leave them there. He could head 
the game that his master was pursuing and turn it back ; 
and he would guard any object he was desired to “ watch ” 
with unfimching constancy. But it would occupy too 
much space and time to enumerate all Crusoe’s qualities 
and powers. His biography will unfold them. 

In personal appearance he was majestic, having grown 
to an immense size, even for a Newfoundland. Had his 
visage been at all wolfish in character, his aspect would 
have been terrible. But he possessed in an eminent de- 
gree that mild, humble expression of face, peculiar to 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


45 


his race. When roused or excited, and especially when 
bounding through the forest with the chase in view, he 
was absolutely magnificent. At other times his gait was 
slow, and he seemed to prefer a quiet walk with Dick 
Varley to anything else under the sun. But when Dick 
was inclined to be boisterous, Crusoe’s tail and ears rose 
at a moment’s notice, and he was ready for anything. 
Moreover, he obeyed commands instantly and implicitly. 
In this respect he put to shame most of the boys of the 
settlement, who were by no means famed for their habits 
of prompt obedience. 

Crusoe’s eye was constantly watching the face of his 
master. When Dick said “ Go ” he went, when he said 
“ Come ” he came. If he had been in the midst of an 
excited bound at the throat of a stag, and Dick had called 
out, “ Down Crusoe,” he would have sunk to the earth 
like a stone. No doubt it took many months of training 
to bring the dog to this state of perfection, but Dick 
accomplished it by patience, perseverance, and love. 

Besides all this, Crusoe could speak ! He spoke by 
means of the dog’s dumb alphabet in a way that defies 
description. He conversed, so to speak, with his ex- 
tremities — his head and his tail. But his eyes, his soft 
brown eyes were the chief medium of communication. 
If ever the language of the eyes was carried to perfection, 
it was exhibited in the person of Crusoe. But, indeed, 
it would be difficult to say which part of his expressive 
face expressed most — the cocked ears of expectation, the 
drooped ears of sorrow ; the bright, full eye of joy, the 
half-closed eye of contentment, and the frowning eye 


46 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


of indignation, accompanied with a slight, a very slight 
pucker of the nose and a gleam of dazzling ivory. Ha ! 
no enemy ever saw this last piece of canine language 
without a full appreciation of what it meant. Then as 
to the tail — the modulations of meaning in the varied 
wag of that expressive member — oh ! it’s useless to 
attempt description. Mortal man cannot conceive of the 
delicate shades of sentiment expressible by a dog’s tail, 
unless he has studied the subject — the wag, the waggle, 
the cock, the droop, the slope, the wriggle ! Away with 
description ! It is impotent and valueless here. 

As we have said, Crusoe was meek and mild. He had 
been bitten, on the sly, by half the ill-natured curs in 
the settlement, and had only shown his teeth in return. 
He had no enmities — though several enemies — and he 
had a thousand friends, particularly among the ranks 
of the weak and the persecuted, whom he always protected 
and avenged when opportunity offered. A single instance 
of this kind will serve to show his character. 

One day Dick and Crusoe were sitting on a rock beside 
the lake — the same identical rock near which, when a 
pup, the latter had received his first lesson. They were 
conversing as usual, for Dick had elicited such a fund of/ 
intelligence from the dog’s mind, and had injected such 
wealth of wisdom into it, that he felt convinced it under- 
stood every word he said. 

“ This is capital weather, Crusoe ; ain’t it, pup ? ” 

Crusoe made a motion with his head which was quite 
as significant as a nod. 

“ Ha ! my pup, I wish that you and I might go and 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


47 


have a slap at the grizzly bars, and a look at the Rocky 
Mountains. Wouldn’t it be nuts, pup ? ” 

Crusoe looked dubious. 

“ What ! you don’t agree with me ? Now tell me, 
pup, wouldn’t ye like to grip a bar ? ” 

Still Crusoe looked dubious, but made a gentle motion 
with his tail, as though he would have said, “ I’ve seen 
neither Rocky Mountains nor grizzly bars, and know 
nothin’ about ’em, but I’m open to conviction.” 

“ You’re a brave pup,” rejoined Dick, stroking the dog’s 
huge head affectionately. “I wouldn’t give you for ten 
times your weight in golden dollars — if there be sich things.’ ’ 
Crusoe made no reply whatever to this. He regarded 
it as a truism unworthy of notice ; he evidently felt that 
a comparison between love and dollars was preposterous. 

At this point in the conversation, a little dog with a 
lame leg hobbled to the edge of the rocks in front of the 
spot where Dick was seated, and looked down into the 
water, which was deep there. Whether it did so for the 
purpose of admiring its very plain visage in the liquid 
mirror, or for finding out what was going on among the 
fish, we cannot say, as it never told us ; but at that moment 
a big, clumsy, savage-looking dog rushed out from the 
neighbouring thicket and began to worry it. 

“ Punish him, Crusoe,” said Dick quickly. 

Crusoe made one bound that a lion might have been 
proud of, and seizing the aggressor by the back, lifted 
him off his legs and held him, howling, in the air, at the 
same time casting a look towards his master for further 
instructions. 


48 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


“ Pitch him in,” said Dick, making a sign with his hand. 

Crusoe turned and quietly dropped the dog into the 
lake. Having regarded his struggles there for a few 
moments with grave severity of countenance, he walked 
slowly back and sat down beside his master. 

The little dog made good its retreat as fast as three 
legs would carry it; and the surly dog, having swum 
ashore, retired sulkily, with his tail very much between 
his legs. 

Little wonder, then, that Crusoe was beloved by great 
and small among the well-disposed of the canine tribe of 
the Mustang Valley. 

But Crusoe was not a mere machine. When not actively 
engaged in Dick Varley’s service, he busied himself with 
private little matters of his own. He undertook modest 
little excursions into the woods or along the margin of the 
lake, sometimes alone, but more frequently with a little 
friend whose whole heart and being seemed to be swallowed 
up in admiration of his big companion. Whether Crusoe 
botanized or geologized on these excursions we will not 
venture to say. Assuredly he seemed as though he did 
both, for he poked his nose into every bush and tuft of 
moss, and turned over the stones, and dug holes in the 
ground — and, in short, if he did not understand these 
sciences, he behaved very much as if he did. Certainly 
he knew as much about them as many of the human 
species do. 

In these walks he never took the slightest notice of 
Grumps (that was the little dog’s name), but Grumps made 
up for this by taking excessive notice of him. When 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


49 


Crusoe stopped, Grumps stopped and sat down to look 
at him. When Crusoe trotted on, Grumps trotted on too. 
When Crusoe examined a bush. Grumps sat down to watch 
him ; and when he dug a hole. Grumps looked into it to 
see what was there. Grumps never helped him ; his sole 
delight was in looking on. They didn’t converse much, 
these two dogs. To be in each other’s company seemed 
to be happiness enough — at least Grumps thought so. 

There was one point at which Grumps stopped short 
however, and ceased to follow his friend, and that was 
when he rushed headlong into the lake and disported 
himself for an hour at a time in its cool waters. Crusoe 
was, both by nature and training, a splendid water-dog. 
Grumps, on the contrary, held water in abhorrence ; so 
he sat on the shore of the lake disconsolate when his 
friend was bathing, and waited till he came out. The 
only time when Grumps was thoroughly nonplussed was 
when Dick Varley’s whistle sounded faintly in the far 
distance. Then Crusoe would prick up his ears and 
stretch out at full gallop, clearing ditch, and fence, and 
brake with his strong elastic bound, and leaving Grumps 
to patter after him as fast as his four-inch legs would 
carry him. Poor Grumps usually arrived at the village 
to find both dog and master gone, and would betake 
himself to his own dwelling, there to lie down and sleep, 
and dream, perchance^ of rambles and gambols with his 
gigantic friend. 


4 


CHAPTER V, 


To THE Land of the Redskins. 

/^NE day the inhabitants of Mustang Valley were 
thrown into considerable excitement by the arrival of 
an officer of the United States army and a small escort 
of calvary. They went direct to the block-house, which, 
since Major Hope’s departure, had become the residence 
of Joe Blunt — that worthy having, by general consent, 
been deemed the fittest man in the settlement to fill the 
major’s place. 

Soon it began to be noised abroad that the strangers 
had been sent by Government to endeavour to bring about, 
if possible, a more friendly state of feeling between the 
Whites and the Indians by means of presents, and promises, 
and fair speeches. 

The party remained all night in the block-house, and 
ere long it was reported that Joe Blunt had been requested, 
and had consented, to be the leader and chief of a party 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


61 


of three men who should visit the neighbouring tribes of 
Indians to the west and north of the valley as Government 
agents. Joe’s knowledge of two or three different Indian 
dialects, and his well-known sagacity, rendered him a 
most fitting messenger on such an errand. It was also 
whispered that Joe was to have the choosing of his com- 
rades in this mission, and many were the opinions ex- 
pressed and guesses made as to who would be chosen. 

That same evening Dick Varley was sitting in his 
mother’s kitchen cleaning his rifle. His mother was pre- 
paring supper, and talking quietly about the obstinacy of 
a particular hen that had taken to laying her eggs in 
places where they could not be found. Fan was coiled up 
in a corner sound asleep, and Crusoe was sitting at one 
side of the fire looking on at things in general. 

“ I wonder,” remarked Mrs. Varley, as she spread the 
table with a pure white napkin — “ I wonder what the 
sodgers are doin’ wi’ Joe Blunt.” 

As often happens when an individual is mentioned, the 
worthy referred to opened the door at that moment and 
stepped into the room. 

“ Good e’en t’ye dame,” said the stout hunter, dofl&ng 
his cap, and resting his rifle in a corner, while Dick rose 
and placed a chair for him. 

“ The same to you, Master Blunt,” answered the widow ; 
you’ve jist corned in good time for a cut o’ venison.” 

“ Thanks mistress ; I s’pose we’re beholden to the 
silver rifle for that.” 

“ To the hand that aimed it, rather.” suggested the 
widow. 


52 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


“Nay, then, say raither to the dog that turned it,” 
said Dick Varley. “ But for Crusoe, that buck would ha’ 
bin couched in the woods this night.” 

“ Oh ! if it comes to that,” retorted Joe, “ I’d lay it to 
the door o’ Fan, for if she’d niver bin born nother would 
Crusoe. But it’s good an’ tender meat, whativer ways 
ye got it. Howsiver, I’ve other things to talk about jist 
now. Them sodgers that are eatin’ buffalo tongues up 
at the block-house as if they’d niver ate meat before, and 
didn’t hope to eat again for a twelvemonth ” 

“ Ay, what o* them ? ” interrupted Mrs. Varley ; “ I’ve 
bin wonderin’ what was their errand.” 

“ Of coorse ye wos, Dame Varley, and I’ve corned here 
a purpis to tell ye. They want me to go to the Redskins 
to make peace between them and us ; and they’ve brought 
a lot o’ goods to make them presents withal — beads, an’ 
knives, an’ lookin’ -glasses, an’ vermilion paint, an’ sich 
like, jist as much as’ll be a light load for one horse — for, 
ye see, nothin’ can be done wi’ the Redskins without gifts.” 

“ ’Tis a blessed mission,” said the widow ; “ I wish it 
may succeed. D’ye think ye’ll go ? ” 

“ Go ? Ay, that will I.” 

“ I only wish they’d made the offer to me,” said Dick 
with a sigh. 

“ An’ so they do make the offer, lad. They’ve gin me 
leave to choose the two men I’m to take with me, and I’ve 
corned straight to ask you. Ay or no, for we must up 
an’ away by break o’ day to-morrow.” 

Mrs. Varley started. “ So soon ? ” she said, with a 
look of anxiety. 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


53 


“ Ay ; the Pawnees are at the Yellow Creek jist at 
this time, but IVe heerd they’re ’bout to break up camp 
an’ away west ; so we’ll need to use haste.” 

“ May I go, mother ? ” asked Dick, with a look of 
anxiety. 

There was evidently a conflict in the widow’s breast, 
but it quickly ceased. 

“Yes, my boy,” she said in her own low, quiet voice ; 
“ and God go with ye. I knew the time must come soon, 
an’ I thank Him that your first visit to the Redskins will 
be on an errand o’ peace. ‘ Blessed are the peacemakers : 
for they shall be called the children of God.’ ” 

Dick grasped his mother’s hand and pressed it to his 
cheek in silence. At the same moment Crusoe, seeing 
that the deeper feelings of his master were touched, and 
deeming it his duty to sympathize, rose up and thrust 
his nose against him. 

“ Ah, pup,” cried the young man hastily, “ you must 
go too. Of course Crusoe goes, Joe Blunt ? ” 

“ Hum ! I don’t know that. There’s no dependin’ on 
a dog to keep his tongue quiet in times o’ danger.” 

“ Believe me,” exclaimed Dick, flashing with enthu- 
siasm, “ Crusoe’s more trustworthy than I am myself. If 
ye can trust the master, ye’re safe to trust the pup.” 

“ Well, lad, ye may be right. We’ll take him.” 

“ Thanks, Joe. And who else goes with us ? ” 

“ I’ve bin castin’ that in my mind for some time, an’ 
I’ve fixed to take Henri. He’s not the safest man in the 
valley, but he’s the truest, that’s a fact. And now, 
youngster, get yer horse and rifle ready, and come to the 


64 


THE DOG CRUSOE, 


block-house at daybreak to-morrow. Good luck to ye, 
mistriss, till we meet agin.” 

Joe Blunt rose, and taking up his rifle — without which 
he scarcely ever moved a foot from his own door — ^left 
the cottage with rapid strides. 

“My son,” said Mrs. Varley, kissing Dick’s cheek as 
he resumed his seat, “ put this in the little pocket I made 
for it in your hunting-shirt.” 

She handed him a small pocket Bible. 

“ Dear mother,” he said, as he placed the book care- 
fully within the breast of his coat, “ the Redskin that 
takes that from me must take my scalp first. But don’t 
fear for me. You’ve often said the Lord would protect 
me. So He will, mother, for sure it’s an errand o’ peace.” 

“ Ay, that’s it, that’s it,” murmured the widow in a 
half-soliloquy. 

Dick Varley spent that night in converse with his 
mother, and next morning at daybreak he was at the 
place of meeting, mounted on his sturdy little horse, with 
the “ silver rifle ” on his shoulder and Crusoe by his side. 

“ That’s right, lad, that’s right. Nothin* like keepin’ 
yer time,” said Joe, as he led out a pack-horse from the 
gate of the block-house, while his own charger was held 
ready saddled by a man named Daniel Brand, who had 
been appointed to the charge of the block-house in his 
absence. 

“ Where’s Henri ? Oh, here he comes ! ” exclaimed 
Dick, as the hunter referred to came thundering up the 
slope at a charge, on a horse that resembled its rider in 
size and not a little in clumsiness of appearance. 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


55 


“ Ah ! mes boy. Him is a goot one to go,” cried Henri, 
remarking Dick’s smile as he pulled up. “ No boss on do 
plain can beat dis one, surement.” 

“ Now then, Henri, lend a hand to fix this pack ; we’ve 
no time to palaver.” 

By this time they were joined by several of the soldiers 
and a few hunters who had come to see them start. 

“ Remember, Joe,” said one, “ if you don’t come back 
in three months we’ll all come out in a band to seek you.” 

“If we don’t come back in less than that time, what’s 
left o’ us won’t be worth seekin’ for,” said Joe, tightening 
the girth of his saddle. 

“ Put a bit in yer own mouth, Henri,” cried another, 
as the Canadian arranged his steed’s bridle ; “ ye’ll need 
it more than yer horse when ye git ’mong the red reptiles.” 

“ Vraiment, if mon mout’ needs one bit, yours will need 
one padlock.” 

“ Now, lads, mount ! ” cried Joe Blunt as he vaulted 
into the saddle. 

Dick Varley sprang lightly on his horse, and Henri 
made a rush at his steed and hurled his huge frame across 
its back with a violence that ought to have brought it 
to the ground ; but the tall, raw-boned, broad-chested 
roan was accustomed to the eccentricities of its master, 
and stood the shock bravely. Being appointed to lead 
the pack-horse, Henri seized its halter. Then the three 
cavaliers shook their reins, and, waving their hands to 
their comrades, they sprang into the woods at full gallop, 
and laid their course for the “ far west.” 

For some time they galloped side by side in silence. 


56 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


each occupied with his own thoughts^ Crusoe keeping close 
beside his master’s horse. The two elder hunters evi- 
dently ruminated on the object of their mission and the 
prospects of success, for their countenances were grave 
and their eyes cast on the ground. Dick Varley, too, 
thought upon the Red-men, but his musings were deeply 
tinged with the bright hues of a first adventure. The 
mountains, the plains, the Indians, the bears, the buffaloes, 
and a thousand other objects, danced wildly before his 
mind’s eye, and his blood careered through his veins and 
flushed his forehead as he thought of what he should see 
and do, and felt the elastic vigour of youth respond in 
sympathy to the light spring of his active little steed. 
He was a lover of nature, too, and his flashing eyes 
glanced observantly from side to side as they swept 
along — sometimes through glades of forest trees, some- 
times through belts of more open ground and shrubbery ; 
anon by the margin of a stream or along the shores of a 
little lake, and often over short stretches of flowering 
prairie-land — ^while the firm, elastic turf sent up a muffled 
sound from the tramp of their mettlesome chargers. It 
was a scene of wild luxuriant beauty, that might almost 
(one could fancy) have drawn involuntary homage to its 
bountiful Creator from the lips even of an infidel. 

After a time Joe Blunt reined up, and they proceeded 
at an easy ambling pace. Joe and his friend Henri were 
so used to these beautiful scenes that they had long ceased 
to be enthusiastically affected by them, though they never 
ceased to delight in them. 

“ I hope,” said Joe, “ that them sodgers’ll go their ways 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 67 

soon. IVe no notion o’ them chaps when they’re left at 
a place wi’ nothin’ to do but whittle sticks.” 

“Why, Joe,” exclaimed Dick Varley in a tone of sur- 
prise, “ I thought you were admirin’ the beautiful face 
o’ nature all this time, and ye’re only thinkin’ about the 
sodgers. Now, that’s strange.” 

“ Not so strange after all, lad,” answered Joe. “ When 
a man’s used to a thing, he gits to admire an’ enjoy it 
without speakin’ much about it. But it is true, boy, that 
mankind gits in coorse o’ time to think little o’ the blissin’s 
he’s used to.” 

“ Oui, c’est vrai ! ” murmured Henri emphatically. 

“ Well, Joe Blunt, it may be so, but I’m thankful Vm 
not used to this sort of thing yet,” exclaimed Varley. 
“ Let’s have another gallop. So ho ! come along, Crusoe ! ” 
shouted the youth as he shook his reins and flew over a 
long stretch of prairie on which at that moment they 
entered. 

Joe smiled as he followed his enthusiastic companion, 
but after a short run he pulled up. 

“ Hold on, youngster,” he cried ; “ ye must larn to do 
as ye’re bid, lad. It’s trouble enough to be among wild 
Injuns and wild buffaloes, as I hope soon to be, without 
havin’ wild comrades to look after.” 

Dick laughed, and reined in his panting horse. “ I’ll 
be as obedient as Crusoe,” he said, “ and no one can 
beat him.” 

“ Besides,” continued Joe “ the horses won’t travel far 
if we begin by runnin’ all the wind out o’ them.” 

“ Wah ! ” exclaimed Henri, as the led horse became 


58 THE DOG CRUSOE. 

restive ; “ I think we must give to him de pack-hoss for 
to lead, eh ?” 

“ Not a bad notion, Henri. We’ll make that the penalty 
of runnin’ off again ; so look out, Master Dick.” 

“I’m down,” replied Dick, with a modest air, “ obedient 
as a baby, and won’t run off again — till — the next time. 
By the way, Joe, how many days’ provisions did ye 
bring ? ” 

“ Two. That’s ’nough to carry us to the Great Prairie, 
which is three weeks distant from this. Our own good 
rifles must make up the difference, and keep us when we 
get there.” 

“ And s’pose we neither find deer nor buffalo,” suggested 
Dick. 

“ I s’pose we’ll have to starve.” 

“ Dat is cumfer’able to tink upon,” remarked Henri. 

“ More comfortable to think o’ than to undergo,” said 
Dick ; “ but I s’pose there’s little chance o’ that.” 

“ Well, not much,” replied Joe Blunt, patting his 
horse’s neck ; “ but d’ye see, lad, ye niver can count for 
sartin on anythin’. The deer and buffalo ought to be 
thick in them plains at this time — and when the buffalo 
are thick they covers the plains till ye can hardly see the 
end o’ them ; but, ye see, sometimes the rascally Redskins 
takes it into their heads to burn the prairies, and some- 
times ye find the place that should ha’ bin black wi’ 
buffalo black as a coal wi’ fire for miles an’ miles on end. 
At other times the Redskins go huntin’ m ’ticlur places, 
and sweeps them clean o’ every hoof that don’t git away. 
Sometimes, too, the animals seems to take a scunner at 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


59 


a place, and keeps out o’ the way. But one way or 
another men gin’rally manage to scramble through.” 

“ Look yonder, Joe,” exclaimed Dick, pointing to the 
summit of a distant ridge, where a small black object 
was seen moving against the sky ; “ that’s a deer, ain’t 
it ? ” 

Joe shaded his eyes with his hand, and gazed earnestly 
at the object in question. “ Ye’re right, boy ; and by 
good luck we’ve got the wind of him. Cut in an’ take 
your chance now. There’s a long strip o’ wood as’ll let 
ye git close to him.” 

Before the sentence was well finished Dick and Crusoe 
were off at full gallop. For a few hundred yards they 
coursed along the bottom of a hollow ; then turning to 
the right they entered the strip of wood, and in a few 
minutes gained the edge of it. Here Dick dismounted. 

“ You can’t help me here, Crusoe. Stay where you are, 
pup, and hold my horse.” 

Crusoe seized the end of the line, which was fastened 
to the horse’s nose, in his mouth, and lay down on a 
hillock of moss, submissively placing his chin on his fore- 
paws, and watching his master as he stepped noiselessly 
through the wood. In a few minutes Dick emerged from 
among the trees, and creeping from bush to bush, succeeded 
in getting to within six hundred yards of the deer, which 
was a beautiful little antelope. Beyond the bush behind 
which he now crouched all was bare open ground, without 
a shrub or a hillock large enough to conceal the hunter. 
There was a slight undulation in the ground, however, 
which enabled him to advance about fifty yards farther, 


60 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


by means of lying down quite flat and working himself 
forward like a serpent. Farther than this he could not 
move without being seen by the antelope, which browsed 
on the ridge before him in fancied security. The distance 
was too great even for a long shot ; but Dick knew of a 
weak point in this little creature’s nature which enabled 
him to accomplish his purpose — ^a weak point which it 
shares in common with animals of a higher order — namely, 
curiosity. 

The little antelope of the North American prairies is 
intensely curious about everything that it does not quite 
understand, and will not rest satisfied until it has en- 
deavoured to clear up the mystery. Availing himself of 
this propensity, Dick did what both Indians and hunters 
are accustomed to do on these occasions : he put a piece 
of rag on the end of his ramrod, and keeping his person 
concealed and perfectly still, waved this miniature flag 
in the air. The antelope noticed it at once, and, pricking 
up its ears, began to advance, timidly and slowly, step by 
step, to see what remarkable phenomenon it could be. 
In a few seconds the flag was lowered, a sharp crack 
followed, and the antelope fell dead upon the plain. 

“ Ha, boy ! that’s a good supper, anyhow,” cried Joe, 
as he galloped up and dismounted. 

“ Goot ! Dat is better nor dried meat,” added Henri. 
“ Give him to me ; I will put him on my boss, vich is 
strongar dan yourn. But ver is your hoss ? ” 

“ He’ll be here in a minute,” replied Dick, putting his 
fingers to his mouth and giving forth a shrill whistle. 
The instant Crusoe heard the sound he made a savage 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


61 


and apparently uncalled-for dash at the horse’s heels. 
This wild act, so contrary to the dog’s gentle nature, 
was a mere piece of acting. He knew that the horse 
would not advance without getting a fright, so he gave 
him one in this way, which sent him off at a gallop. 
Crusoe followed close at his heels, so as to bring the line 
alongside of the nag’s body, and thereby prevent its getting 
entangled ; but despite his best efforts the horse got on 
one side of a tree and he on the other, so he wisely let 
go his hold of the line, and waited till more open ground 
enabled him to catch it again. Then he hung heavily 
back, gradually checked the horse’s speed, and finally 
trotted him up to his master’s side. 

“ ’Tis a diver cur, good sooth,” exclaimed Joe Blunt 
in surprise. 

“ Ah, Joe ! you haven’t seen much of Crusoe yet. 
He’s as good as a man any day. I’ve done little else 
but train him for two years gone by, and he can do most 
anything but shoot — he can’t handle the rifle nohow.” 

“ Ha ! then, I tink perhaps him could if he wos try,” 
said Henri, plunging on to his horse with a laugh, and 
arranging the carcass of the antelope across the pommel 
of his saddle. 

Thus they hunted and galloped, and trotted and ambled 
on through wood and plain all day, until the sun began 
to descend below the tree-tops of the bluffs on the west. 
Then Joe Blunt looked about him for a place on which 
to camp, and finally fixed on a spot under the shadow 
of a noble birch by the margin of a little stream. The 
carpet of grass on its banks was soft like green velvet. 


62 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


and the rippling waters of the brook were clear as crystal 
— very different from the muddy Missouri into which 
it flowed. 

While Dick Varley felled and cut up firewood, Henri 
unpacked the horses and turned them loose to graze, and 
Joe kindled the fire and prepared venison steaks and 
hot tea for supper. 

In excursions of this kind it is customary to “ hobble ” 
the horses — that is, to tie their fore-legs together, so that 
they cannot run either fast or far, but are free enough 
to amble about with a clumsy sort of hop in search of 
food. This is deemed a sufficient check on their tendency 
to roam, although some of the knowing horses sometimes 
learn to hop so fast with their hobbles as to give their 
owners much trouble to recapture them. But when out 
in the prairies where Indians are known or supposed to 
be in the neighbourhood, the horses are picketed by means 
of a pin or stake attached to the ends of their long lariats, 
as well as hobbled, for Indians deem it no disgrace to 
steal or tell lies, though they think it disgraceful to be 
found out in doing either. And so expert are these dark- 
skinned natives of the western prairies that they will 
creep into the midst of an enemy’s camp, cut the lariats 
and hobbles of several horses, spring suddenly on their 
backs, and gallop away. 

They not only steal from white men, but tribes that 
are at enmity steal from each other, and the boldness 
with which they do this is most remarkable. When 
Indians are travelling in a country where enemies are 
prowling, they guard their camps at night with jealous 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


63 


care. The horses in particular are both hobbled and 
picketed, and sentries are posted all round the camp. 
Yet, in spite of these precautions, hostile Indians manage 
to elude the sentries and creep into the camp. When a 
thief thus succeeds in effecting an entrance, his chief 
danger is past. He rises boldly to his feet, and wrapping 
his blanket or buffalo robe round him, he walks up and 
dowm as if he were a member of the tribe. At the same 
time he dexterously cuts the lariats of such horses as he 
observes are not hobbled. He dare not stoop to cut 
the hobbles, as the action would be observed, and suspicion 
would be instantly aroused. He then leaps on the best 
horse he can find, and uttering a terrific war-whoop darts 
away into the plains, driving the loosened horses before 
him. 

No such dark thieves were supposed to be near the camp 
under the birch-tree, however, so Joe, and Dick, and 
Henri ate their supper in comfort, and let their horses 
browse at will on the rich pasturage. 

A bright, ruddy fire was soon kindled, which created, 
as it were, a little ball of light in the midst of surrounding 
darkness for the special use of our hardy hunters. Within 
this magic circle all was warm, comfortable, and 
cheery ; outside all was dark, and cold, and dreary by 
contrast. 

When the substantial part of supper was disposed of, 
tea and pipes were introduced, and conversation began 
to flow. Then the three saddles were placed in a row 
each hunter wrapped himself in his blanket, and pillowing 
his head on his saddle, stretched his feet towards the 


64 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


fire and went to sleep, with his loaded rifle by his side 
and his hunting-knife handy in his belt. Crusoe mounted 
guard by stretching himself out couchant at Dick Varley’s 
side. The faithful dog slept lightly, and never moved 
all night ; but had any one observed him closely he would 
have seen that every fitful flame that burst from the 
sinking fire, every unusual puff of wind, and every motion 
of the horses that fed or rested hard by, had the effect 
of revealing a speck of glittering white in Crusoe’s watchful 
eye. 


CHAPTER VI. 


Night in the Wild Woods. 

/^F all the hours of the night or day the hour that 
succeeds the dawn is the purest, the most joyous, and 
the best. At least so think we, and so think hundreds 
and thousands of the human family. And so thought 
Dick Varley, as he sprang suddenly into a sitting posture 
next morning, and threw his arms with an exulting feeling 
of delight round the neck of Crusoe, who instantly sat 
up to greet him. 

This was an unusual piece of enthusiasm on the part 
of Dick ; but the dog received it with marked satisfaction, 
rubbed his big hairy cheek against that of his young 
master, and arose from his sedentary position in order 
to afford free scope for the use of his tail. 

“ Ho ! Joe Blunt ! Henri ! Up, boys, up ! The sun 
will have the start o’ us. I’ll catch the nags.” 

So saying Dick bounded away into the woods, with 
Crusoe gambolling joyously at his heels. Dick soon 
caught his own horse, and Crusoe caught Joe’s. Then the 
former mounted and quickly brought in the other two. 

5 


66 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


Returning to the camp he found everything packed and 
ready to strap on the back of the pack-horse. 

“That’s the way to do it, lad,” cried Joe. “Here 
Henri, look alive and git yer beast ready. I do believe 
ye’re goin’ to take another snooze ! ” 

Henri was indeed, at that moment, indulging in a 
gigantic stretch and a cavernous yawn ; but he finished 
both hastily, and rushed at his poor horse as if he in- 
tended to slay it on the spot. He only threw the saddle 
on its back, however, and then threw himself on the 
saddle. 

“ Now then, all ready ? ” 

» Ay “ Oui, yis ! ” 

And away they went at full stretch again on their 
journey. 

Thus day after day they travelled, and night after 
night they laid them down to sleep under the trees of the 
forest, until at length they reached the edge of the Great 
Prairie. 

It was a great, a memorable day in the life of Dick 
Varley that on which he first beheld the prairie — the vast 
boundless prairie. He had heard of it, talked of it, dreamed 
about it, but he had never — no, he had never realized it. 
’Tis always thus. Our conceptions of things that we have 
not seen are almost invariably wrong. Dick’s eyes 
glittered, and his heart swelled, and his cheeks flushed, 
and his breath came thick and quick. 

“ There it is,” he gasped, as the great rolling plain 
broke suddenly on his enraptured gaze ; “ that’s it — 
oh I” 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


67 


Dick uttered a yell that would have done credit to the 
fiercest chief of the Pawnees, and being unable to utter 
another word, he swung his cap in the air and sprang like 
an arrow from a bow over the mighty ocean of grass. 
The sun had just risen to send a fiood of golden glory 
over the scene, the horses were fresh, so the elder hunters, 
gladdened by the beauty of all around them, and inspired 
by the irresistible enthusiasm of their young companion, 
gave the reins to the horses and flew after him. It was 
a glorious gallop that first headlong dash over the bound- 
less prairie of the “ far west.” 

The prairies have often been compared, most justly, 
to the ocean. There is the same wide circle of space 
bounded on all sides by the horizon ; there is the same 
swell, or undulation, or succession of long, low unbroken 
waves that marks the ocean when it is calm ; they are 
canopied by the same pure sky, and swept by the same 
untrammelled breezes. There are islands, too — clumps of 
trees and willow-bushes — which rise out of this grassy 
ocean to break and relieve its uniformity ; and these vary 
in size and numbers as do the isles of ocean, being numerous 
in some places, while in others they are so scarce that the 
traveller does not meet one in a long day’s journey. 
Thousands of beautiful flowers decked the greensward, 
and numbers of little birds hopped about among them. 

“ Now, lads,” said Joe Blunt, reining up, “ our troubles 
begin to-day.” 

“ Our troubles ? Our joys, you mean ! ” exclaimed 
Dick Varley. 

“ P’raps I don’t mean nothin’ o’ the sort,” retorted 


68 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


Joe. “ Man wos never intended to swaller his joys with- 
out a strong mixtur’ o’ trouble. I s’pose he couldn’t 
stand ’em pure. Ye see we’ve got to the prairie now ” 

“ One blind boss might see dat ! ” interrupted Henri. 

“ An’ we may or may not diskiver buffalo. An’ water’s 
scarce, too, so we’ll need to look out for it pretty sharp, 
I guess, else we’ll lose our horses, in which case we may 
as well give out at once. Besides, there’s rattlesnakes 
about in sandy places — we’ll ha’ to look out for them ; 
an’ there’s badger holes — ^we’ll need to look sharp for 
them lest the horses put their feet in ’em ; an’ there’s 
Injuns, who’ll look out pretty sharp for us if they once 
get wind that we’re in them parts.” 

“ Oui, yis, mes boys ; and there’s rain, and tunder, and 
lightin’,” added Henri, pointing to a dark cloud which 
was seen rising on the horizon ahead of them. 

“ It’ll be rain,” remarked Joe ; “ but there’s no thunder 
in the air jist now. We’ll make for yonder clump o’ 
bushes and lay by till it’s past.” 

Turning a little to the right of the course they had been 
following, the hunters galloped along one of the hollows 
between the prairie waves before mentioned, in the direc- 
tion of a clump of willows. Before reaching it, however, 
they passed over a bleak and barren plain where there 
was neither flower nor bird. Here they were suddenly 
arrested by a most extraordinary sight — at least it was 
so to Dick Varley, who' had never seen the like before. 
This was a colony of what Joe called “prairie-dogs.” 
On first beholding them Crusoe uttered a sort of half 
growl, half bark of surprise, cocked his tail and ears, and 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


69 


instantly prepared to charge ; but he glanced up at his 
master first for permission. Observing that his finger and his 
look commanded “ silence,” he dropped his tail at once 
and stepped to the rear. He did not, however, cease to 
regard the prairie-dogs with intense curiosity. 

These remarkable little creatures have been egregiously 
misnamed by the hunters of the west, for they bear not 
the slightest resemblance to dogs, either in formation or 
habits. They are, in fact, the marmot, and in size are 
little larger than squirrels, which animals they resemble 
in some degree. They burrow under the light soil, and 
throw it up in mounds like moles. 

Thousands of them were running about among their 
dwellings when Dick first beheld them ; but the moment 
they caught sight of the horsemen rising over the ridge 
they set up a tremendous hubbub of consternation. Each 
little beast instantly mounted guard on the top of his 
house, and prepared, as it were, “ to receive cavalry.” 

The most ludicrous thing about them was that, al- 
though the most timid and cowardly creatures in the 
world, they seemed the most impertinent things that ever 
lived. Knowing that their holes afforded them a per- 
fectly safe retreat, they sat close beside them ; and as 
the hunters slowly approached, they elevated their heads, 
wagged their little tails, showed their teeth, and chattered 
at them like monkeys. The nearer they came the more 
angry and furious did the prairie-dogs become, until Dick 
Varley almost fell off his horse with suppressed laughter. 
They let the hunter come close up, waxing louder and 
louder in their wrath ; but the instant a hand was raised 


70 


THE DOG CRUSOE, 


to throw a stone or point a gun, a thousand little heads 
dived into a thousand holes, and a thousand little tails 
wriggled for an instant in the air, then a dead silence 
reigned over the deserted scene. 

“ Bien ! them’s have dive into de bo’-els of de eart’,” 
said Henri with a broad grin. 

Presently a thousand noses appeared, and nervously dis- 
appeared, like the wink of an eye. Then they appeared 
again, and a thousand pair of eyes followed. Instantly, 
like Jack in the box, they were all on the top of their 
hillocks again, chattering and wagging their little tails as 
vigorously as ever. You could not say that you saw them 
jump out of their holes. Suddenly, as if by magic, they 
were out ; then Dick tossed up his arms, and suddenly, 
as if by magic, they were gone ! 

Their number was incredible, and their cities were full 
of riotous activity. What their occupations were the 
hunters could not ascertain, but it was perfectly evident 
that they visited a great deal and gossiped tremendously, 
for they ran about from house to house, and sat chatting 
in groups ; but it was also observed that they never went 
far from their own houses. Each seemed to have a circle 
of acquaintance in the immediate neighbourhood of his 
own residence, to which in case of sudden danger he 
always fled. 

But another things about these prairie-dogs (perhaps, 
considering their size, we should call them prairie-doggies) 
— another thing about them, we say, was that each doggie 
lived with an owl, or, more correctly, an owl lived with 
each doggie. This is such an extraordinary fact that we 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


71 


could scarce hope that men would believe us, were our 
statement not supported by dozens of trustworthy travel- 
lers who have visited and written about these regions. 
The whole plain was covered with these owls. Each hole 
seemed to be the residence of an owl and a doggie, and 
these incongruous couples lived together apparently in 
perfect harmony. 

We have not been able to ascertain from travellers why 
the owls have gone to live with these doggies, so we beg 
humbly to offer our own private opinion to the 
reader. 

We assume, then, that owls find it absolutely needful 
to have holes. Probably prairie-owls cannot dig holes 
for themselves. Having discovered, however, a race of 
little creatures that could, they very likely determined to 
take forcible possession of the holes made by them. Find- 
ing, no doubt, that when they did so the doggies were too 
timid to object, and discovering, moreover, that they 
were sweet, innocent little creatures, the owls resolved 
to take them into partnership, and so the thing 
was settled. That’s how it came about, no doubt of 
it! 

There is a report that rattlesnakes live in these holes 
also ; but we cannot certify our reader of the truth of 
this. Still it is well to be acquainted with a report that 
is current among the men of the backwoods. If it be 
true, we are of opinion that the doggie’s family is the 
most miscellaneous and remarkable on the face of— or, as 
Henri said, in the bo’-els of the earth, 

Dick and his friends were so deeply absorbed in watching 


72 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


these curious little creatures that thej^ did not observe 
the rapid spread of the black clouds over the sky. A few 
heavy drops of rain now warned them to seek shelter, 
so wheeling round they dashed off at full speed for the 
clump of willows, which they gained just as the rain began 
to descend in torrents. 

“ Now, lads, do it slick. Off packs and saddles,” cried 
Joe Blunt, jumping from his horse. “ I’ll make a hut 
for ye, right off.” 

“ A hut, Joe. What sort o’ hut can ye make here ? ” 
inquired Dick. 

“ Ye’ll see, boy, in a minute.” 

“ Ach ! lend me a hand here, Dick ; de bockle am 
tight as de boss’s own skin. Ah ! dere all right.” 

“ Hallo ! what’s this ? ” exclaimed Dick, as Crusoe ad- 
vanced with something in his mouth. “ I declare, it’s 
a bird o’ some sort.” 

“ A prairie-hen,” remarked Joe, as Crusoe laid the bird 
at Dick’s feet ; “ capital for supper.” 

“ Ah ! dat chien is superb ! goot dog ! Come here ; 
I vill clap you.” 

But Crusoe refused to be caressed. Meanwhile, Joe and 
Dick formed a sort of beehive-looking hut by bending 
down the stems of a tall bush and thrusting their points 
into the ground. Over this they threw the largest buffalo 
robe, and placed another on the ground below it, on which 
they laid their packs of goods. These they further se- 
cured against wet by placing several robes over them and 
a skin of parchment. Then they sat down on this pile 
to rest, and consider what should be done next. 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


73 


“ ’Tis a bad look-out,” said Joe, shaking his head. 

“ I fear it is,” replied Dick in a melancholy tone. 

Henri said nothing, but he sighed deeply on looking up 
at the sky, which was now of a uniform watery gray, 
while black clouds drove athwart it. The rain was pouring 
in torrents, and the wind began to sweep it in broad sheets 
over the plains, and under their slight covering, so that 
in a short time they were wet to the skin. The horses 
stood meekly beside them, with their tails and heads 
equally pendulous ; and Crusoe sat before his master, 
looking at him with an expression that seemed to say, 
“ Couldn’t you put a stop to this if you were to try ? ” 

“ This’ll never do. I’ll try to git up a fire,” said Dick, 
jumping up in desperation. 

“ Ye may save yerself the trouble,” remarked Joe 
dryly — at least as dryly as was possible in the circum- 
stances. 

However, Dick did try, but he failed signally. Every- 
thing was soaked and saturated. There were no large 
trees ; most of the bushes were green, and the dead ones 
were soaked. The coverings were slobbery, the skins they 
sat on were slobbery, the earth itself was slobbery ; so 
Dick threw his blanket (which was also slobbery) round 
his shoulders, and sat down beside his companions to grin 
and bear it. As for Joe and Henri, they were old hands 
and accustomed to such circumstances. From the first 
they had resigned themselves to their fate, and wrapping 
their wet blankets round them sat down, side by 
side, wisely to endure the evils that they could not 


cure. 


74 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


There is an old rhyme, by whom composed we know 
not, and it matters little, which runs thus, — 

For every evil under the sun 
There is a remedy, or there’s none. 

If there is, try and find it ; 

If there isn’t never mind it 1” 

There is deep wisdom here in small compass. The prin- 
cipte involved deserves to be heartily recommended. Dick 
never heard of the lines, but he knew the principle well, 
so he began to “ never mind it ” by sitting down beside 
his companions and whistling vociferously. As the wind 
rendered this a difficult feat, he took to singing instead. 
After that he said, “Let’s eat a bite, Joe, and then go 
to bed.” 

“ Be all means,” said Joe, who produced a mass of 
dried deer’s meat from a wallet. 

“ It’s cold grub,” said Dick, “ and tough.” 

But the hunters’ teeth were sharp and strong, so they 
ate a hearty supper and washed it down with a drink of 
rain water collected from a pool on the top of their hut. 
They now tried to sleep, for the night was advancing, and 
it was so dark that they could scarce see their hands when 
held up before their faces. They sat back to back, and 
thus, in the form of a tripod, began to snooze. Joe’s and 
Henri’s seasoned frames would have remained stiff as posts 
till morning ; but Dick’s body was young and pliant, so 
he hadn’t been asleep a few seconds when he fell forward 
into the mud and effectually awakened the others. Joe 
gave a grunt, and Henri exclaimed, “ Hah ! ” but Dick 
was too sleepy and miserable to say anything. Crusoe 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


75 


however, rose up to show his sympathy, and laid his wet 
head on his master’s knee as he resumed his place. This 
catastrophe happened three times in the space of an hour, 
by the third time they were all awakened up so thoroughly 
that they gave up the attempt to sleep, and amused each 
other by recounting their hunting experiences and telling 
stories. So engrossed did they become that day broke 
sooner than they had expected, and just in proportion 
as the gray light of dawn rose higher into the eastern sky 
did the spirits of these weary men rise within their soak- 
ing bodiesi. 


CHAPTER VU. 

Crusoe to the Kescue. 


F ortunately the day that succeeded the dreary 
night described in the last chapter was warm and 
magnificent. The sun rose in a blaze of splendour, 
and filled the atmosphere with steam from the moist 
earth. 

The unfortunates in the wet camp were not slow to 
avail themselves of his cheering rays. They hung up 
everything on the bushes to dry, and by dint of extreme 
patience and cutting out the comparatively dry hearts of 
several pieces of wood, they lighted a fire and boiled some 
rain water, which was soon converted into soup. This, 
and the exercise necessary for the performance of these 
several duties, warmed and partially dried them ; so that 
when they once more mounted their steeds and rode away, 
they were in a state of comparative comfort and in ex- 
cellent spirits. The only annoyance was the clouds of 
mosquitoes and large flies that assailed men and horses 
whenever they checked their speed. 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


77 


“ I tell ye wot it is^’* said Joe Bluntj one fine morning 
about a week after they had begun to cross the prairie ; 
“ it’s my ’pinion that we’ll come on buffaloes soon. Them 
tracks are fresh, an’ yonder’s one ’o their wallers that’s 
bin used not long agone.” 

“ I’ll go have a look at it,” cried Dick, trotting away 
as he spoke. 

Everything in these vast prairies was new to Dick 
Varley, and he was kept in a constant state of excitement 
during the first week or two of his j ourney . It is true he was 
quite familiar with the names and habits of all the animals 
that dwelt there ; for many a time and oft had he listened 
to the “ yarns ” of the hunters and trappers of the Mustang 
Valley, when they returned laden with rich furs from their 
periodical hunting expeditions. But this knowledge of 
his only served to whet his curiosity and his desire to 
see the denizens of the prairies with his own eyes ; and 
now that his wish was accomplished, it greatly increased 
the pleasures of his journey. 

Dick had just reached the “ wallow ” referred to by 
Joe Blunt, and had reined up his steed to observe it 
leisurely, when a faint hissing sound reached his ear* 
Looking quickly back, he observed his two companions 
crouching on the necks of their horses, and slowly descend- 
ing into a hollow of the prairie in front of them, as if 
they wished to bring the rising ground between them and 
some object in advance. Dick instantly followed their 
example, and was soon at their heels. 

“ Ye needn’t look at the waller,” whispered Joe, “ for 
a’ tother side o’ the ridge there’s a bull wallerirCy 


78 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


“ Ye don’t mean it ! ” exclaimed Dick, as they all dis- 
mounted and picketed their horses to the plain. 

“ Oui,” said Henri, tumbling off his horse, while a 
broad grin overspread his good-natured countenance, “ it 
is one fact ! One buffalo bull be wollerin’ like a enor- 
merous hog. Also, dere be t’ousands o’ buffaloes farder 
on.” 

“Can ye trust yer dog keepin’ back ? ” inquired Joe, 
with a dubious glance at Crusoe. 

“ Trust him ! Ay, I wish I was as sure o’ myself.” 

“Look to yer primin’, then, an’ we’ll have tongues 
and marrow bones for supper to-night, I’se warrant. 
Hist ! down on yer knees and go softly. We might ha’ 
run them down on horseback, but it’s bad to wind yer 
beasts on a trip like this, if ye can help it ; an’ it’s about 
as easy to stalk them. Leastways, we’ll try. Lift yer 
head slowly, Dick, an’ don’t show more nor the half o’t 
above the ridge.” 

Dick elevated his head as directed, and the scene that 
met his view was indeed well calculated to send an electric 
shock to the heart of an ardent sportsman. The vast 
plain beyond was absolutely blackened with countless 
herds of buffaloes, which were browsing on the rich grass. 
They were still so far distant that their bellowing, and 
the trampling of their myfiad hoofs only reached the 
hunters like a faint murmur on the breeze. In the immedi- 
ate foreground, however, there was a group of about 
half a dozen buffalo cows feeding quietly, and in the 
midst of them an enormous old bull was enjoying himself 
in his wallow. The animals, towards which our hunters 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


79 


now crept with murderous intent, are the fiercest and the 
most ponderous of the ruminating inhabitants of the 
western wilderness. The name of hu^aloy however, is not 
correct. The animal is the bison, and bears no resem- 
blance whatever to the buffalo proper ; but as the hunters 
of the far west, and, indeed, travellers generally, have 
adopted the misnomer, we bow to the authority of custom 
and adopt it too. 

Buffaloes roam in countless thousands all over the 
North American prairies, from the Hudson Bay Territories, 
north of Canada, to the shores of the Gulf of Mexico. 

The advance of the white men to the west has driven 
them to the prairies between the Missouri and the Rocky 
Mountains, and has somewhat diminished their numbers ; 
but even thus diminished, they are still innumerable in 
the more distant plains. Their colour is dark brown^ 
but it varies a good deal with the seasons. The hair or 
fur, from its great length in winter and spring and ex- 
posure to the weather, turns quite light ; but when the 
winter coat is shed off, the new growth is a beautiful dark 
brown, almost approaching to jet-black. In form the 
buffalo somewhat* resembles the ox, but its head and 
shoulders are much larger, and are covered with a pro- 
fusion of long shaggy hair which adds greatly to the fierce 
aspect of the animal. It has a large hump on the shoulder, 
and its fore-quarters are much larger, in proportion, than 
the hind- quarters. Tlie horns are short and thick, the 
hoofs are cloven, and the tail is short, with a tuft of hair 
at the extremity. 

It is scarcely possible to conceive a wilder or more 


80 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


ferocious and terrible monster than a bufifalo bull. He 
often grows to the enormous weight of two thousand 
pounds. His lion-like mane falls in a shaggy confusion 
quite over his head and shoulders, down to the ground. 
When he is wounded he becomes imbued with the spirit 
of a tiger : he stamps, bellows, roars, and foams forth 
his rage with glaring eyes and steaming nostrils, and 
charges furiously at man and horse with utter reckless- 
ness. Fortunately, however, he is not naturally pug- 
nacious, and can easily be thrown into a sudden panic. 
Moreover, the peculiar position of his eye renders this 
creature not so terrible as he would otherwise be to the 
hunter. Owing to the stiff structure of the neck, and 
the sunken, downward-looking eyeball, the buffalo cannot 
without an effort, see beyond the direct line of vision 
presented to the habitual carriage of his head. When, 
therefore, he is wounded and charges, he does so in a 
straight line, so that his pursuer can leap easily out of his 
way. The pace of the buffalo is clumsy, and apparently 
slow, yet, when chased, he dashes away over the plains 
in blind blundering terror, at a rate that leaves all but 
good horses far behind. He cannot keep the pace up, 
however, and is usually soon overtaken. Were the buffalo 
capable of the same alert and agile motions of the head 
and eye peculiar to the deer and wild horse, in addition 
to his bovine rage,” he would be the most formidable 
brute on earth. There is no object, perhaps, so terrible 
as the headlong advance of a herd of these animals when 
thoroughly aroused by terror. They care not for their 
necks. All dangea: in front is forgotten, or not seen, in 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


81 


tkeir terror of that from which they fly. No thundering 
cataract is more tremendously irresistible than the black 
bellowing torrent which sometimes pours through the 
narrow defiles of the Rocky Mountains, or sweeps like a 
roaring flood over the trembling plains. 

The wallowing, to which we have referred, is a luxury 
usually indulged in during the hot months of summer, 
when the buffaloes are tormented by flies, and heat, 
and drought. At this season they seek the low grounds 
in the prairies where there is a little stagnant water lying 
amongst the grass, and the ground underneath, being 
saturated, is soft. The leader of the herd, a shaggy old 
bull, usually takes upon himself to prepare the wallow. 

It was a rugged monster of the largest size that did 
so on the present occasion, to the intense delight of Dick 
Varley, who begged Joe to lie still and watch the operation 
before trying to shoot one of the buffalo cows. Joe con- 
sented with a nod, and the four spectators — for Crusoe 
was as much taken up with the proceedings as any of 
them — crouched in the grass and looked on. 

Coming up to the swampy spot, the old bull gave a 
grunt of satisfaction, and going down on one knee, plunged 
his short thick horns into the mud, tore it up, and oast 
it aside. Having repeated this several times, he plunged 
his head in, and brought it forth saturated with dirty 
water and bedaubed with lumps of mud, through which 
his fierce eyes gazed, with a ludicrous expression of as- 
tonishment, straight in the direction of the hunters, as 
if he meant to say, “I’ve done it that time, and no mis- 
take ! ” The other buffaloes seemed to think so too, for 
6 


82 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


they came up and looked on with an expression that 
seemed to say, “ Well done, old fellow ; try that again ! ” 

The old fellow did try it again and again, and again,, 
plunging, and ramming, and tearing up the earth, until 
he formed an excavation large enough to contain his 
huge body. In this bath he laid himself comfortably 
down, and began to roll and wallow about until he mixed 
up a trough full of thin soft mud, which completely covered 
him. When he came out of the hole there was scarcely 
an atom of his former self visible ! 

The coat of mud thus put on by bulls is usually per- 
mitted by them to dry, and is not finally got rid of until 
long after, when oft-repeated rollings on the grass an 
washings by rain at length clear it away. 

When the old bull vacated his delectable bath, another 
bull, scarcely if at all less ferocious-looking, stepped for- 
ward to take his turn ; but he was interrupted by a volley 
from the hunters, which scattered the animals right 
and left, and sent the mighty herds in the distance flying 
over the prairie in wild terror. The very turmoil of their 
own mad flight added to their panic, and the continuous 
thunder of their hoofs was heard until the last of them 
disappeared on the horizon. The family party which had 
been fired at, however, did not escape so well. Joe’s 
rifle wounded a fat young cow, and Dick Varley brought 
it down. Henri had done his best, but as the animals 
were too far distant for his limited vision, he missed the 
cow he fired at, and hit the young bull whose bath had 
been interrupted. The others scattered and fled. 

“ Well done, Dick,” exclaimed Joe Blunt, as they all 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


83 


ran up to the cow that had fallen. “ Your first «hot at 
the buffalo was a good un. Come, now, an’ I’ll show ye 
how to cut it up an’ carry off the tit-bits.” 

“ Ah, mon dear ole bull ! ” exclaimed Henri, gazing 
after the animal which he had wounded, and which was 
now limping slowly away. “ You is not worth goin’ 
after. Farewell — adieu.” 

“ He’ll be tough enough, I warrant,” said Joe ; “ an’ 
we’ve more meat here nor we can lift.” 

“ But wouldn’t it be as well to put the poor brute out 
o’ pain ? ” suggested Dick. 

“ Oh, he’ll die soon enough,” replied Joe, tucking up 
his sleeves and drawing his long hunting-knife. 

Dick, however, was not satisfied with this way of looking 
at it. Saying that he would be back in a few minutes, he 
reloaded his rifle, and calling Crusoe to his side, walked 
quickly after the wounded bull, which was now hid from 
view in a hollow of the plain. 

In a few minutes he came in sight of it, and ran forward 
with his rifle in readiness. 

“ Down, Crusoe,” he whispered ; “ wait for me here.” 

Crusoe crouched in the grass instantly, and Dick ad- 
vanced. As he came on, the bull observed him, and turned 
round, bellowing with rage and pain, to receive him. The 
aspect of the brute on a near view was so terrible that 
Dick involuntarily stopped too, and gazed with a mingled 
feeling of wonder and awe, while it bristled with passion, 
and blood-streaked foam dropped from its open jaws, 
and its eyes glared furiously. Seeing that Dick did not 
advance, the bull charged him with a terrific roar; but 


84 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


tlie youth had firm nerves, and although the rush of such 
a savage creature at full speed was calculated to try the 
courage of any man, especially one who had never seen a 
buffalo bull before, Dick did not lose presence of mind. 
He remembered the many stories he had listened to of 
this very thing that was now happening ; so, crushing 
down his excitement as well as he could, he cocked his 
rifie and awaited the charge. He knew that it was of 
no use to fire at the head of the advancing foe, as the 
thickness of the skull, together with the matted hair on 
the forehead, rendered it impervious to a bullet. 

When the bull was within a yard of him he leaped 
lightly to one side, and it passed. Just as it did so, Dick 
aimed at its heart and fired, but his knowledge of the 
creature’s anatomy was not correct. The ball entered 
the shoulder too high, and the bull, checking himself as 
well as he could in his headlong rush, turned round and 
made at Dick again. 

The failure, coupled with the excitement, proved too 
much for Dick ; he could not resist discharging his second 
barrel at the brute’s head as it came on. He might as 
well have fired at a brick wall. It shook its shaggy front, 
and with a hideous bellow thundered forward. Again 
Dick sprang to one side, but in doing so a tuft of grass or 
a stone caught his foot, and he fell heavily to the ground. 

Up to this point Crusoe’s admirable training had nailed 
him to the spot where he had been left, although the 
twitching of every fibre in his body and a low continuous 
whine showed how gladly he would have hailed permission 
to join in the combat ; but the instant he saw his master 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


85 


down, and the buffalo turning to charge again, he sprang 
forward with a roar that would have done credit to his 
bovine enemy, and seized him by the nose. So vigorous 
was the rush that he well-nigh pulled the bull down on 
its side. One toss of its head, however, sent Crusoe high 
into the air ; but it accomplished this feat at the expense 
of its nose, which was torn and lacerated by the dog’s 
teeth. 

Scarcely had Crusoe touched the ground, which he did 
with a sounding thump, than he sprang up and flew at 
his adversary again. This time, however, he adopted the 
plan of barking furiously, and biting by rapid yet terrible 
snaps as he found opportunity, thus keeping the bull 
entirely engrossed, and affording Dick an opportunity of 
reloading his rifle, which he was not slow to do. Dick 
then stepped close up, and while the two combatants were 
roaring in each other’s faces, he shot the buffalo through 
the heart. It fell to the earth with a deep groan. 

Crusoe’s rage instantly vanished on beholding this, and 
he seemed to be filled with tumultuous joy at his master’s 
escape, for he gambolled round him, and whined and 
fawned upon him in a manner that could not be mis- 
understood. 

“ Good dog ; thank’ee, my pup,” said Dick, patting 
Crusoe’s head as he stooped to brush the dust from his 
leggings. “ I don’t know what would ha’ become o* 
me but for your help, Crusoe.” 

Crusoe turned his head a little to one side, wagged his 
tail, and looked at Dick with an expression that said 
quite plainly, “ I’d die for you, I would — not once, or 


86 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


twice, but ten times, fifty times if need be — and that not 
merely to save your life, but even to please you. 

There is no doubt whatever that Crusoe felt something 
of this sort. The love of a Newfoundland dog to its 
master is beyond calculation or expression. He who once 
gains such love carries the dog’s life in his hand. But 
let him who reads note well, and remember that there 
is only one coin that can purchase such love, and that 
is kindness. The coin, too, must be genuine. Kindness 
merely expressed will not do ; it must be felt. 

“ Hallo, boy ; ye’ve bin i’ the wars ! ” exclaimed Joe, 
raising himself from his task as Dick and Crusoe returned. 

“ You look more like it than I do,” retorted Dick, 
laughing. 

This was true, for cutting up a buffalo carcass with no 
other instrument than a large knife is no easy matter. 
Yet western hunters and Indians can do it without cleaver 
or saw, in a way that would surprise a civilized butcher 
not a little. Joe was covered with blood up to the elbows. 
His hair, happening to have a knack of getting into his 
eyes, had been so often brushed off with bloody hands 
that his whole visage was speckled with gore, and his 
dress was by no means immaculate. 

While Dick related his adventure, or mi5-ad venture, with 
the bull, Joe and Henri completed the cutting out of 
of the most delicate portions of the buffalo — namely, the 
hump on its shoulder, which is a choice piece, much finer 
than the best beef, and the tongue, and a few other parts. 
The tongues of buffalo are superior to those of domestic 
cattle. When all was ready the meat was slung across 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


87 


the back of the pack-horse ; and the party, remounting 
their horses, continued their journey, having first cleansed 
themselves as well as they could in the rather dirty waters 
of an old wallow. 

“ See,” said Henri, turning to Dick and pointing to a 
circular spot of green as they rode along, “ that is one 
old dry waller.” 

“Ay,” remarked Joe ; “ after the waller dries, it becomes 
a ring o’ greener grass than the rest o’ the plain, as ye 
see. ’Tis said the first hunters used to wonder greatly 
at these myster’ous circles, and they invented all sorts 
o’ stories to account for ’em. Some said they wos fairy- 
rings, but at last they corned to know they wos nothin’ 
more nor less than places where buffaloes wos used to 
waller in. It’s often seemed to me that if we knowed 
the raisons o’ things, we wouldn’t be so puzzled wi’ them 
as we are.” 

The truth of this last remark was so self-evident and 
incontrovertible that it elicited no reply, and the three 
friends rode on for a considerable time in silence. 

It was now past noon, and they were thinking of calling 
a halt for a short rest to the horses and a pipe to them- 
selves, when Joe was heard to give vent to one of those 
peculiar hisses that always accompanied either surprise 
or a caution. In the present case it indicated both. 

“ What now, Joe 1 ” 

“ Injuns ! ” ejaculated Joe. 

“ Eh ! fat you say ? Ou is dey ? ’* 

Crusoe at this moment uttered a low growl. Ever 
since the day he had been partially roasted he had main- 


88 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


tained a rooted antipathy to Red-men. Joe immediately 
dismounted, and placing his ear to the ground listened 
intently. It is a curious fact that by placing the ear 
close to the ground sounds can be heard distinctly which 
could not be heard at all if the listener were to maintain 
an erect position. 

“ They’re arter the buffalo,” said Joe, rising, “ an’ 1 
think it likely they’re a band o’ Pawnees. Listen an’ 
ye’ll hear their shouts quite plain.” 

Dick and Henri immediately lay down and placed their 
ears to the ground. 

“ Now, me hear noting,” said Henri, jumping up ; 
“ but me ear is like me eyes — ver’ short-sighted.” 

“ I do hear something,” said Dick as he got up, “ but 
the beating o’ my own heart makes row enough to spoil 
my bearin’.” 

Joe Blunt smiled. “ Ah ! lad, ye’re young, an’ yer 
blood’s too hot yet ; but bide a bit — you’ll cool down soon. 
I wos like you once. — Now, lads, what think ye we should 
do ? ” 

“ You know best, Joe.” 

“ Oui, nodoubtedly.” 

“ Then, wot I advise is that we gallop to the broken 
sand hillocks ye see yonder, get behind them, an’ take 
a peep at the Redskins. If they are Pawnees, we’ll go 
up to them at once ; if not, we’ll hold a council o’ war 
on the spot.” 

Having arranged this, they mounted and hastened to- 
wards the hillocks in question, which they reached after 
ten minutes’ gallop at full stretch. The sandy mounds 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


89 


afforded them concealment, and enabled them to watch 
the proceedings of the savages in the plain below. The 
scene was the most curious and exciting that can be con- 
ceived. The centre of the plain before them was crowded 
with hundreds of buffaloes, which were dashing about 
in the most frantic state of alarm. To whatever point 
they galloped they were met by yelling savages on horse- 
back, who could not have been fewer in numbers than a 
thousand, all being armed with lance, bow, and quiver, 
and mounted on active little horses. The Indians had 
completely surrounded the herd of buffaloes, and were 
now advancing steadily towards them, gradually narrowing 
the circle, and whenever the terrified animals endeavoured 
to break through the line, they rushed to that particular 
spot in a body, and scared them back again into the 
centre. 

Thus they advanced until they closed in on their prey 
and formed an unbroken circle round them, whilst the 
poor brutes kept eddying and surging to and fro in a 
confused mass, hooking and climbing upon each other, 
and bellowing furiously. Suddenly the horsemen made 
a rush, and the work of destruction began. The tremendous 
turmoil raised a cloud of dust that obscured the field 
in some places, and hid it from our hunters’ view. Some 
of the Indians galloped round and round the circle, sending 
their arrows whizzing up to the feathers in the sides of 
the fattest cows. Others dashed fearlessly into the midst 
of the black heaving mass, and, with their long lances, 
pierced dozens of them to the heart. In many instances 
the buffaloes, infuriated by wounds, turned fiercely on 


90 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


their assailants and gored the horses to death, in which 
cases the men had to trust to their nimble legs for safety. 
Sometimes a horse got jammed in the centre of the swaying 
mass, and could neither advance nor retreat. Then the 
savage rider leaped upon the buffaloes’ backs, and springing 
from one to another, like an acrobat, gained the outer 
edge of the circle ; not failing, however, in his strange 
flight, to pierce with his lance several of the fattest of 
his stepping-stones as he sped along. 

A few of the herd succeeded in escaping from the blood 
and dust of this desperate battle, and made off over the 
plains ; but they were quickly overtaken, and the lance 
or the arrow brought them down on the green turf. Many 
of the dismounted riders were chased by bulls ; but they 
stepped lightly to one side, and, as the animals passed, 
drove their arrows deep into their sides. Thus the 
tumultuous war went on, amid thundering tread, and 
yell, and bellow, till the green plain was transformed 
into a sea of blood and mire, and every buffalo of the 
herd was laid low. 

It is not to be supposed that such reckless warfare is 
invariably waged without damage to the savages. Many 
were the wounds and bruises received that day, and not 
a few bones were broken, but happily no lives were 
lost. 

“ Now, lads, now’s our time. A bold and fearless 
look’s the best at all times. Don’t look as if ye doubted 
their friendship ; and mind, wotever ye do, don’t use 
yer arms. Follow me.” 

Saying this, Joe Blunt leaped on his horse, and, bounding 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 91 

over the ridge at full speed, galloped headlong across the 
plain. 

The savages observed the strangers instantly, and a 
loud yell announced the fact as they assembled from all 
parts of the field brandishing their bows and spears. 
Joe’s quick eye soon distinguished their chief, towards 
whom he galloped, still at full speed, till within a yard 
or two of his horse’s head ; then he reined up suddenly. 
So rapidly did Joe and his comrades approach, and so 
instantaneously did they pull up, that their steeds were 
thrown almost on their haunches. 

The Indian chief did not move a muscle. He was a 
tall, powerful savage, almost naked, and mounted on a 
coal-black charger, which he sat with the ease of a man 
accustomed to ride from infancy. He was, indeed, a 
splendid-looking savage, but his face wore a dark frown, 
for, although he and his band had visited the settlements 
and trafficked with the fur-traders on the Missouri, he 
did not love the “ Pale-faces,” whom he regarded as 
intruders on the hunting-grounds of his fathers, and the 
peace that existed between them at that time was of a 
very fragile character. Indeed, it was deemed by the 
traders impossible to travel through the Indian country 
at that period except in strong force, and it was the very 
boldness of the present attempt that secured to our 
hunters anything like a civil reception. 

Joe, who could speak the Pawnee tongue fluently, 
began by explaining the object of his visit, and spoke 
of the presents which he had brought for the great chief ; 
but it was evident that his words made little impression. 


92 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


As he discoursed to them the savages crowded round 
the little party, and began to handle and examine their 
dresses and weapons with a degree of rudeness that caused 
Joe considerable anxiety. 

“ Mahtawa believes that the heart of the Pale-face is 
true,” said the savage, when Joe paused, “ but he 
does not choose to make peace. The Pale-faces are 
grasping. They never rest. They turn their eyes to the 
great mountains and say, ‘ There we will stop.’ But 
even there they will not stop. They are never satisfied ; 
Mahtawa knows them well.” 

This speech sank like a death-knell into the hearts of 
the hunters, for they knew that if the savages refused to 
make peace, they would scalp them all and appropriate 
their goods. To make things worse, a dark-visaged Indian 
suddenly caught hold of Henri’s rifie, and, ere he was 
aware, had plucked it from his hand. The blood rushed 
to the gigantic hunter’s forehead, and he was on the point 
of springing at the man, when Joe said in a deep quiet 
voice, — 

“ Be still, Henri. You will but hasten death.” 

At this moment there was a movement in the outskirts 
of the circle of horsemen, and another chief rode into 
the midst of them. He was evidently higher in rank 
than Mahtawa, for he spoke authoritatively to the crowd, 
and stepped in before him. The hunters drew little 
comfort from the appearance of his face, however, for 
it scowled upon them. He was not so powerful a man 
as Mahtawa, but he was more gracefully formed, and 
had a more noble and commanding countenance. 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


93 


“ Have the Pale-faces no wigwams on the great river 
that they should come to spy out the lands of the Pawnee ? ” 
he demanded. 

“ We have not come to spy your country,” answered 
Joe, raising himself proudly as he spoke, and taking off 
his cap. “ We have come with a message from the great 
chief of the Pale-faces, who lives in the village far beyond 
the great river where the sun rises. He says. Why should 
the Pale-face and the Red-man fight ? They are brothers. 
The same Manitou* watches over both. The Pale-faces 
have more beads, and guns, and blankets, and knives, 
and vermilion than they require ; they wish to give some 
of these things for the skins and furs which the Red- 
man does not know what to do with. The great chief 
of the Pale-faces has sent me to say. Why should we 
fight ? Let us smoke the pipe of peace.” 

At the mention of beads and blankets the face of the 
wily chief brightened for a moment. Then he said 
sternly, — 

“ The heart of the Pale-face is not true. He has come 
here to trade for himself. San-it-sa-rish has eyes that 
can see ; they are not shut. Are not these your goods ? ” 
The chief pointed to the pack-horse as he spoke. 

“ Trappers do not take their goods into the heart of 
an enemy’s camp,” returned Joe. “ San-it-sa-rish is wise, 
and will understand this. These are gifts to the chief 
of the Pawnees. There are more awaiting him when the 
pipe of peace is smoked. I have said. What message shall 
we take back to the great chief of the Pale-faces ? ” 

♦ The Indian name for God. 


94 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


San-it-sa-rish was evidently mollified. 

“ The hunting field is not the council tent,” he said. 
“ The Pale-faces will go with us to our village.” 

Of course Joe was too glad to agree to this proposal, 
but he now deemed it politic to display a little firmness. 

“ We cannot go till our rifle is restored. It will not 
do to go back and tell the great chief of the Pale-faces 
that the Pawnees are thieves.” 

The chief frowned angrily. 

“ The Pawnees are true ; they are not thieves. They 
choose to look at the rifle of the Pale-face. It shall be 
returned.” 

The rifle was instantly restored, and then our hunters 
rode off with the Indians towards their camp. On the 
way they met hundreds of women and children going 
to the scene of the great hunt, for it was their special 
duty to cut up the meat and carry it into the camp. The 
men, considering that they had done quite enough in 
killing it, returned to smoke and eat away the fatigues 
of the chase. 

As they rode along, Dick Varley observed that some 
of the “ braves,” as Indian warriors are styled, were 
eating pieces of the bloody livers of the buffaloes in a 
raw state, at which he expressed not a little disgust. 

“ Ah, boy ! you’re green yet,” remarked Joe Blunt 
in an undertone. “ Mayhap ye’ll be thankful to do that 
same yerself some day.” 

“ Well, I’ll not refuse to try when it is needful,” said 
Dick with a laugh ; “ meanwhile I’m content to see the 
Redskins do it, Joe Blunt.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 

How Dick won the Rach. 

Pawnee village, at which they soon arrived, was 
situated in the midst of a most interesting and 
picturesque scene. 

It occupied an extensive plain which sloped gently down 
to a creek,* whose winding course was marked by a broken 
line of wood, here and there interspersed with a fine 
clump of trees, between the trunks of which the blue 
waters of a lake sparkled in the distance. Hundreds of 
tents or “ lodges ” of buffalo skins covered the ground, 
and thousands of Indians — men, women and children — 
moved about the busy scene. Some were sitting in their 
lodges, laSiily smoking their pipes. But these were chiefiy 
old and infirm veterans, for all the young men had gone 
to the hunt which we have just described. The women 
were stooping over their fires, busily preparing maize 
and meat for their husbands and brothers ; while myriads 
of little brown and naked children romped about every- 

♦ In America small rivers or rivulets are termed “creeks ” 


96 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


where, filling the air with their yells and screams, which 
were only equalled, if not surpassed, by the yelping dogs 
that seemed innumerable. 

Ear as eye could reach were seen scattered herds of 
horses. These were tended by little boys who were totally 
destitute of clothing, and who seemed to enjoy with 
infinite zest the pastime of shooting-practice with little 
bows and arrows. No wonder that these Indians become 
expert bowmen. There were urchins there, scarce two 
feet high, with round bullets of bodies and short spindle- 
shanks, who could knock blackbirds off the trees at every 
shot, and cut the heads of the taller flowers with perfect 
certainty ! There was much need, too, for the utmost 
proficiency they could attain, for the very existence of 
the Indian tribes of the prairies depends on their success 
in hunting the buffalo. 

There are hundreds and thousands of North American 
savages who would undoubtedly perish, and their tribes 
become extinct, if the buffaloes were to leave the prairies 
or die out. Yet, although animals are absolutely essential 
to their existence, they pursue and slay them with im- 
provident recklessness, sometimes killing hundreds of them 
merely for the sake of the sport, the tongues and the marrow 
bones. In the bloody hunt described in the last chapter, 
however, the slaughter of so many was not wanton, because 
the village that had to be supplied with food was large, 
and, just previous to the hunt, they had been living on 
somewhat reduced allowance. Even the blackbirds shot 
by the brown-bodied urchins before mentioned had been 
thankfully put into the pot. Thus precarious is the 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 97 

supply of food among the Red-men, who on one day are 
starving, and the next are revelling in superabundance. 

But to return to our story. At one end of this village 
the creek sprang over a ledge of rock in a low cascade 
and opened out into a beautiful lake, the bosom of which 
was studded with small islands. Here were thousands 
of those smaller species of wild water-fowl, which were 
either too brave or too foolish to be scared away by the 
noise of the camp. And here, too, dozens of children 
were sporting on the beach, or paddling about in their 
light bark canoes. 

“ Isn’t it strange,” remarked Dick to Henri, as they 
passed among the tents towards the centre of the village 
— “ isn’t it strange that them Injuns should be so fond 
o’ fightin’, when they’ve got all they can want — a fine 
country, lots o’ buffalo, an’ as far as I can see, happy 
homes ? ” 

“ Oui, it is remarkaibel, vraiment. Bot dey do more 
love war to peace. Dey loves to be excit-ed, I 
s’pose.” 

“ Humph ! One would think the hunt we seed a little 
agone would be excitement enough. But, I say, that 
must be the chief’s tent, by the look o’t.” 

Dick was right. The horsemen pulled up and dis- 
mounted opposite the principal chief’s tent, which was 
a larger and more elegant structure than the others. 
Meanwhile an immense concourse of women, children, 
and dogs gathered round the strangers, and while the 
latter yelped their dislike to white men, the former 
chattered continuously, as they discussed the appearance 
of the strangers and their errand, which latter soon became 
known. An end was put to this by San-it-sa-rish de- 
siring the hunters to enter the tent, and spreading a 


98 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


buffalo robe for them to sit on. Two braves carried in 
their packs, and then led away their horses. 

All this time Crusoe had kept as close as possible to 
his master’s side, feeling extremely uncomfortable in the 
midst of such a strange crowd, the more especially that 
the ill-looking Indian curs gave him expressive looks of 
hatred, and exhibited some desire to rush upon him in 
a body, so that he had to keep a sharp look-out all round 
him. When therefore Dick entered the tent, Crusoe en- 
deavoured to do so along with him ; but he was met by 
a blow on the nose from an old squaw, who scolded him 
in a shrill voice and bade him begone. 

Either our hero’s knowledge of the Indian language 
was insufficient to enable him to understand the order, 
or he had resolved not to obey it, for instead of retreating, 
he drew a deep gurgling breath, curled his nose, and dis- 
played a row of teeth that caused the old woman to draw 
back in alarm. Crusoe’s was a forgiving spirit. The 
instant that opposition ceased he forgot the injury, and 
was meekly advancing, when Dick held up his finger. 

“ Go outside, pup, and wait.” 

Crusoe’s tail drooped ; with a deep sigh he turned 
and left the tent. He took up a position near the entrance, 
however, and sat down resignedly. So meek, indeed, did 
the poor dog look that six mangy-looking curs felt their 
dastardly hearts emboldened to make a rush at him with 
boisterous yells. 

Crusoe did not rise. He did not even condescend to 
turn his head toward them ; but he looked at them out 
of the comer of his dark eye, wrinkled — very slightly — 
the skin of his nose, exhibited two beautiful fangs, and 
gave utterance to a soft remark, that might be described 
as quiet, deep-toned gurgling. It wasn’t much, but it 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


99 


was more than enough for the valiant six, who paused 
and snarled violently. 

It was a peculiar trait of Crusoe’s gentle nature that, 
the moment any danger ceased, he resumed his expression 
of nonchalant gravity. The expression on this occasion 
was misunderstood, however ; and as about two dozen 
additional yelping dogs had joined the ranks of the enemy, 
they advanced in close order to the attack. 

Crusoe still sat quiet, and kept his head high ; but he 
looked at them again, and exhibited four fangs for their 
inspection. Among the pack there was one Indian dog 
of large size — almost as large as Crusoe himself — which 
kept well in the rear, and apparently urged the lesser 
dogs on. The little dogs didn’t object, for little dogs 
are generally the most pugnacious. At this big dog 
Crusoe directed a pointed glance, but said nothing. Mean- 
while a particularly small and vicious cur, with a mere 
rag of a tail, crept round by the back of the tent, and 
coming upon Crusoe in the rear, snapped at his tail sharply, 
and then fled shrieking with terror and surprise, no doubt, 
at its own temerity. 

Crusoe did not bark ; he seldom barked ; he usually 
either said nothing, or gave utterance to a prolonged 
roar of indignation of the most terrible character, with 
barks, as it were, mingled through it. It somewhat 
resembled that peculiar and well-known species of thunder 
the prolonged roll of which is marked at short intervals 
in its course by cannon-like cracks. It was a continuous, 
but, so to speak, knotted roar. 

On receiving the snap, Crusoe gave forth the roar with 
a majesty and power that scattered the pugnacious front 
rank of the enemy to the winds. Those that still remained, 
half stupefied, he leaped over with a huge bound, and 


100 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


alighted, fangs first, on the back of the big dog. There 
was one hideous yell, a muffiod scramble of an instant’s 
duration, and the big dog lay dead upon the plain ! 

It was an awful thing to do, but Crusoe evidently felt 
that the peculiar circumstances of the case required that 
an example should be made ; and to say truth, all things 
considered, we cannot blame him. The news must have 
been carried at once through the canine portion of the 
camp, for Crusoe was never interfered with again after 
that. 

Dick witnessed this little incident ; but he observed 
that the Indian chief cared not a straw about it, and as 
his dog returned quietly and sat down in its old place 
he took no notice of it either, but continued to listen to 
the explanations which Joe gave to the chief, of the desire 
of the Pale-faces to be friends with the Red-men. 

Joe’s eloquence would have done little for him on this 
occasion had his hands been empty, but he foHowed it 
up by opening one of his packs and displaying the glittering 
contents before the equally glittering eyes of the chief 
and his squaws. 

“ These,” said Joe, “ are the gifts that the great chief 
of the Pale-faces sends to the great chief of the Pawnees. 
And he bids me say that there are many more things 
in his stores which will be traded for skins with the Red- 
men, when they visit him ; and he also says that if the 
Pawnees will not steal horses any more from the Pale- 
faces, they shall receive gifts of knives, and guns, and 
powder, and blankets every year.” 

“ Wah ! ” grunted the chief ; “ it is good. The great 
chief is wise. We will smoke the pipe of peace.” 

The things that afforded so much satisfaction to San-it- 
sa-rish were the veriest trifles. Penny looking-glasses in 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


101 


yellow gilt tin frames, beads of various colours, needles^ 
cheap scissors and knives, vermilion paint, and coarse 
scarlet cloth, etc. They were of priceless value, however, 
in the estimation of the savages, who delighted to adorn 
themselves with leggings made from the cloth, beautifully 
worked with beads by their own ingenious women. They 
were thankful, too, for knives even of the commonest 
description, having none but bone ones of their own ; 
and they gloried in daubing their faces with intermingled 
streaks of charcoal and vermilion. To gaze at their visages, 
when thus treated, in the little penny looking-glasses is 
their summit of delight! 

Joe presented the chief with a portion of these coveted 
goods, and tied up the remainder. We may remark here 
that the only thing which prevented the savages from 
taking possession of the whole at once, without asking 
permission, was the promise of the annual gifts, which 
they knew would not be forthcoming were any evil to 
befall the deputies of the Pale-faces. Nevertheless, it 
cost them a severe struggle to restrain their hands on 
this occasion, and Joe and his companions felt that they 
would have to play their part well in order to fulfil their 
mission with safety and credit. 

“ The Pale-faces may go now and talk with the braves,” 
said San-it-sa-rish, after carefully examining everything 
that was given to him ; “a council will be called soon, 
and we will smoke the pipe of peace.” 

Accepting this permission to retire, the hunters im- 
mediately left the tent ; and being now at liberty to do 
what they pleased, they amused themselves by wandering 
about the village. 

“ He’s a cute chap that,” remarked Joe, with a sarcastic 
smile ; “ I don’t feel quite easy about gettin’ away. 


102 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


He’ll bother the life out o’ us to get all the goods we’ve 
got, and, ye see, as we’ve other tribes to visit, we must 
give away as little as we can here.” 

“ Ha ! you is right,” said Henri ; “ dat fellow’s eyes 
twinkle at de knives and tings like two stars.” 

“ Fire-flies, ye should say. Stars are too soft an’ 
beautiful to compare to the eyes o’ yon savage,” said 
Dick, laughing. “ I wish we were well away from them 
That rascal Mahtawa is an ugly customer.” 

“ True, lad,” returned Joe ; “ had he bin the great 
chief our scalps had bin dryin’ in the smoke o’ a Pawnee 
wigwam afore now. What now, lad ? ” 

Joe’s question was put in consequence of a gleeful 
smile that overspread the countenance of Dick Varley, 
who replied by pointing to a wigwam towards which 
they were approaching. 

“ Oh ! that’s only a dandy,” exclaimed Joe. “ There’s 
lots o’ them in every Injun camp. They’re fit for nothin’ 
but dress, poor contemptible critters.” 

Joe accompanied his remark with a sneer, for of all 
pitiable objects he regarded an unmanly man as the most 
despicable. He consented, however, to sit down on a 
grassy bank and watch the proceedings of this Indian 
dandy, who had just seated himself in front of his wigwam 
for the purpose of making his toilet. 

He began by greasing his whole person carefully and 
smoothly over with buffalo fat, until he shone like a patent 
leather boot ; then he rubbed himself almost dry, leaving 
the skin sleek and glossy. Having proceeded thus far, 
he took up a small mirror, a few inches in diameter, which 
he or some other member of the tribe must have procured 
during one of their few excursions to the trading-forts 
of the Pale-faces, and examined himself, as well as he 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


103 


could in so limited a space. Next, he took a little ver- 
milion from a small parcel and rubbed it over his face 
until it presented the somewhat demoniac appearance of 
a fiery red. He also drew a broad red score along the 
crown of his head, which was closely shaved, with the 
exception of the usual tuft or scalplock on the top. This 
scalplock stood bristling straight up a few inches, and 
then curved over and hung down his back about two feet. 
Immense care and attention was bestowed on this lock. 
He smoothed it, greased it, and plaited it into the form 
of a pigtail. Another application was here made to the 
glass, and the result was evidently satisfactory, to judge 
from the beaming smile that played on his features. But , 
not content with the general effect, he tried the effect of 
expression — frowned portentously, scowled savagely, gaped 
hideously, and grinned horribly a ghastly smile. 

Then our dandy fitted into his ears, which were bored 
in several places, sundry ornaments, such as rings, wampum, 
etc., and hung several strings of beads round his neck. 
Besides these he affixed one or two ornaments to his 
arms, wrists, and ankles, and touched in a few effects 
with vermilion on the shoulders and breast. After this^ 
and a few more glances at the glass, he put on a pair of 
beautiful moccasins, which, besides being richly wrought 
with beads, were soft as chamois leather and fitted his 
feet like gloves. A pair of leggings of scarlet cloth were 
drawn on, attached to a waist-belt, and bound below the 
knee with broad garters of variegated bead-work. 

It was some time before this Adonis was quite satisfied 
with himself. He retouched the paint on his shoulders 
several times, and modified the glare of that on his wide 
mouthed, high* cheek-boned visage, before he could tear 
himself away; but at last he did so, and throwing a 


104 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


large piece of scarlet cloth over his shoulders, he thrust 
his looking-glass under his belt, and proceeded to mount 
his palfrey, which was held in readiness near to the tent 
door by one of his wives. The horse was really a fine 
animal, and seemed worthy of a more warlike master. 
His shoulders, too, were striped with red paint, and 
feathers were intertwined with his mane and tail, while 
the bridle was decorated with various jingling ornaments. 

Vaulting upon his steed, with a large fan of wild-goose 
and turkey feathers in one hand, and a whip dangling at 
the wrist of the other, this incomparable dandy sallied 
forth for a promenade — that being his chief delight when 
there was no buffalo hunting to be done. Other men 
who were not dandies, sharpened their knives, smoked, 
feasted, and mended their spears and arrows at such 
seasons of leisure, or played at athletic games. 

“ Let’s follow my buck,” said Joe Blunt. 

“ Oui. Come ’long,” replied Henri, striding after the 
rider at a pace that almost compelled his comrades to run. 

“ Hold on ! ” cried Dick, laughing ; “ we don’t want 
to keep him company. A distant view is quite enough 
o’ sich a chap as that.” 

“ Mais you forget I cannot see far.” 

“ So much the better,” remarked Joe ; “ it’s my opinion 
we’ve seen enough o’ him. Ah ! he’s going to look on 
at the games. Them’s worth lookin’ at,” 

The games to which Joe referred were taking place on 
a green level plain close to the creek, and a little above 
the waterfall before referred to. Some of the Indians 
were horse-racing, some jumping, and other wrestling ; 
but the game which proved most attractive was throwing 
the javelin, in which several of the young braves were 
engaged. 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


105 


This game is played by two competitors, each armed 
with a dart, in an arena about fifty yards long. One of 
the players has a hoop of six inches in diameter. At a 
signal they start off on foot at full speed, and on reaching 
the middle of the arena the Indian with the hoop rolls 
it along before them, and each does his best to send a 
javelin through the hoop before the other. He who 
succeeds counts so many points ; if both miss, the nearest 
to the hoop is allowed to count, but not as much as if 
he had “ ringed ” it. The Indians are very fond of this 
game, and will play at it under a broiling sun for hours 
together. But a good deal of the interest attaching to 
it is owing to the fact that they make it a means of gambling. 
Indians are inveterate gamblers, and will sometimes go on 
until they lose horses, bows, blankets, robes, and, in short, 
all their personal property. The consequences are, as 
might be expected, that fierce and bloody quarrels some- 
times arise in which life is often lost. 

‘‘ Try your hand at that,” said Henri to Dick. 

“ By all means,” cried Dick, handing his rifie to his 
friend, and springing into the ring enthusiastically. 

A general shout of applause greeted the Pale-face, who 
threw off his coat and tightened his belt, while a young 
Indian presented him with a dart. 

“ Now, see that ye do us credit, lad,” said Joe. 

“ I’ll try,” answered Dick. 

In a moment they were off. The young Indian rolled 
away the hoop, and Dick threw his dart with such vigour 
that it went deep into the ground, but missed the hoop 
by a foot at least. The young Indian’s first dart went 
through the centre. 

“ Ha ! ” exclaimed Joe Blunt to the Indians near him, 
“ the lad’s not used to that game ; try him at a race. 


106 THE DOG CRUSOE, 

Bring out your best brave — he whose bound is like the 
hunted deer.” 

We need scarcely remind the reader that Joe spoke 
in the Indian language, and that the above is a correct 
rendering of the sense of what he said. 

The name of Tarwicadia, or the little chief, immediately 
passed from lip to lip, and in a few minutes an Indian, 
a little below the medium size, bounded into the arena 
with an indiarubber-like elasticity that caused a shade 
of anxiety to pass over Joe’s face. 

“ Ah, boy ! ” he whispered, “ I’m afeard you’ll find 
him a tough customer.” 

“ That’s just what I want,” replied Dick. “ He’s supple 
enough, but he wants muscle in the thigh. We’ll make 
it a long heat.” 

“ Right, lad, ye’re right.” 

Joe now proceeded to arrange the conditions of the 
race with the chiefs around him. It was fixed that the 
distance to be run should be a mile, so that the race would 
be one of two miles, out and back. Moreover, the com- 
petitors were to run without any clothes, except a belt 
and a small piece of cloth round the loins. This to the 
Indians was nothing, for they seldom wore more in warm 
weather ; but Dick would have preferred to keep on part 
of his dress. The laws of the course, however, would not 
permit this, so he stripped and stood forth, the heau- 
ideal of a well-formed, agile man. He was greatly superior 
in size to his antagonist, and more muscular, the savage 
being slender and extremely lithe and springy. 

“ Ha ! I will run too,” shouted Henri, bouncing forward 
with clumsy energy, and throwing off his coat just as 
they were going to start. 

The savages smiled at this unexpected burst, and made 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 107 

no objection, considering the thing in the light of a 
joke. 

The signal was given, and away they went. Oh ! it 
would have done you good to have seen the way in which 
Henri manoeuvred his limbs on this celebrated occasion ! 
He went over the ground with huge elephantine bounds, 
runs, and jumps. He could not have been said to have 
one style of running ; he had a dozen styles, all of which 
came into play in the course of half as many minutes. 
The other two ran like the wind ; yet although Henri 
appeared to be going heavily over the ground, he kept up with 
them to the turning-point. As for Dick, it became evident 
in the first few minutes that he could outstrip his antagonist 
with ease, and was hanging back a little all the time. He 
shot ahead like an arrow when they came about halfway 
back, and it was clear that the real interest of the race 
was to lie in the competition between Henri and 
Tarwicadia. 

Before they were two-thirds of the way back, Dick 
walked in to the winning-point, and turned to watch 
the others. Henri’s wind was about gone, for he exerted 
himself with such violence that he wasted half his strength. 
The Indian, on the contrary, was comparatively fresh, 
but he was not so fieet as his antagonist, whose tremendous 
strides carried him over the ground at an incredible pace. 

On they came neck and neck, till close on the score 
that marked the winning-point. Here the value of en- 
thusiasm came out strongly in the case of Henri. He 
felt that he could not gain an inch on Tarwicadia to save 
his life, but just as he came up he observed the anxious 
faces of his comrades and the half -sneering countenances 
of the savages. His heart thumped against his ribs, every 
piuscle filled with a gush of confiicting feelings, and he 


108 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


hurled himself over the score like a cannon shot, full six 
inches ahead of the little chief. 

But the thing did not by any means end here. Tarwi- 
cadia pulled up the instant he had passed. Not so our 
Canadian. Such a clumsy and colossal frame was not 
to be checked in a moment. The crowd of Indians opened 
up to let him pass, but unfortunately a small tent that 
stood in the way was not so obliging. Into it he went, 
head foremost, like a shell, carried away the corner post 
with his shoulder, and brought the whole affair down 
about his own ears and those of its inmates, among whom 
were several children and two or three dogs. It required 
some time to extricate them all from the ruins, but when 
this was effected it was found that no serious damage 
had been done to life or limb. 


CHAPTER IXi 


An Indian Banquet, 

W HEN the foot-race was concluded the three 
hunters hung about looking on at the various games 
for some time, and then strolled towards the lake 
“ Ye may be thankful yer neck’s whole,” said Joe, 
grinning, as Henri rubbed his shoulder with a rueful look. 
“ An’ we’ll have to send that Injun and his family a 
knife and some beads to make up for the fright they got.” 
“ Ha ! an’ fat is to be give to me for my broke shoulder ? ” 
“ Credit, man, credit,” said Dick Varley, laughing. 

“ Credit ! Fat is dat ? ” 

“ Honour and glory, lad, and the praises of them 
savages.” 

“ Ha ! de praise ? more probeebale de ill vill of de 
rascale. I seed dem scowl at me not ver’ pretty.” 

“ That’s true, Henri ; but sich as it is it’s all ye’ll git.” 
“ I vish,” remarked Henri after a pause — “ I vish I 


110 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


could git de vampum belt de lettle chief had on. It was 
superb. Fat place do vampums come from ? 

“ They’re shells—” 

“ Oui,” interrupted Henri ; “ I know fat dey is. Dey 
is shells, and de Injuns tink dem goot monish ; mais I 
ask you fat place dey come from.” 

“ They are thought to be gathered on the shores o* 
the Pacific,” said Joe. “ The Injuns on the west o’ the 
Rocky Mountains picks them up and exchanges them 
wi’ the fellows hereaway for horses and skins — so I’m 
told.” 

At this moment there was a wild cry of terror heard 
a short distance ahead of them. Rushing forward they 
observed an Indian woman flying frantically down the 
river’s bank towards the waterfall, a hundred yards 
above which an object was seen struggling in the 
water. 

“ ’Tis her child,” cried Joe, as the mother’s frantic 
cry reached his ear. “ It’ll be over the fall in a minute. 
Run, Dick ; you’re quickest.” 

They had all started forward at full speed, but Dick 
and Crusoe were far ahead, and abreast of the spot in 
a few seconds. 

“ Save it, pup,” cried Dick, pointing to the child, which 
had been caught in an eddy, and was for a few moments 
hovering on the edge of the stream that rushed impetuously 
towards the fall. 

The noble Newfoundland did not require to be told 
what to do. It seems a natural instinct in this sagacious 
species of dog to save man or beast that chances to be 
struggling in the water, and many are the authentic 
stories related of Newfoundland dogs saving life in cases 
of shipwreck. Indeed, they are regularly trained to the 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


Ill 


work in some countries ; and nobly, fearlessly, disin- 
terestedly do they discharge their trust, often in the 
midst of appalling dangers. Crusoe sprang from the bank 
with such impetus that his broad chest ploughed up the 
water like the bow of a boat, and the energetic workings 
of his muscles were indicated by the force of each successive 
propulsion as he shot ahead. 

In a few seconds he reached the child and caught it by 
the hair. Then he turned to swim back, but the stream 
had got hold of him. Bravely he struggled, and lifted 
the child breast-high out of the water in his powerful 
efforts to stem the current. In vain. Each moment he 
was carried inch by inch down until he was on the brink 
of the fall, which, though not high, was a large body of 
water and fell with a heavy roar. He raised himself 
high out of the stream with the vigour of his last struggle 
and then fell back into the abyss. 

By this time the poor mother was in a canoe as close 
to the fall as she could with safety approach, and the 
little bark danced like a cockle-shell on the turmoil of 
waters as she stood with uplifted paddle and staring 
eyeball, awaiting the rising of the child. 

Crusoe came up almost instantly, but alone, for the 
dash over the fall had wrenched the child from his teeth. 
He raised himself high up, and looked anxiously round 
for a moment. Then he caught sight of a little hand 
raised above the boiling flood. In one moment he had 
the child again by the hair, and just as the prow of the 
Indian woman’s canoe touched the shore he brought the 
child to land. 

Springing towards him, the mother snatched her child 
from the flood, and gazed at its death-like face with 
eyeballs starting from their sockets. Then she laid her 


112 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


cheek on its cold breast, and stood like a statue of despair. 
There was one slight pulsation of the heart and a gentle 
motion of the hand. The child still lived. Opening up 
her blanket she laid her little one against her naked, 
warm bosom, drew the covering close around it, and 
sitting down on the bank wept aloud for joy. 

“ Come — come ’away quick,” cried Henri, hurrying off, ( 
to hide the emotion which he could not crush down. 

“ Ay, she don’t need our help now,” said Joe, following 
his comrade. 

As for Crusoe, he walked along by his master’s side 
with his usual quiet, serene look of good-will towards all ^ 
mankind. Doubtless a feeling of gladness at having 
saved a human life filled his shaggy breast, for he wagged 
his tail gently after each shake of his dripping sides ; but his 
meek eyes were downcast, save when raised to re- 
ceive the welcome and unusually fervent caress. Crusoe 
did not know that those three men loved him as though 
he had been a brother. 

On their way back to the village the hunters were met 
by a little boy, who said that a council was to be held 
immediately, and their presence was requested. " ' 

The council was held in the tent of the principal chief, 
towards which all the other chiefs and many of the noted 
braves hurried. Like all Indian councils, it was preceded 
by smoking the “ medicine pipe,” and was followed b^ 
speeches from several of the best orators. The substanc 
of the discourse differed little from what has been already 
related in reference to the treaty between the Pale-faces, 
and upon the whole it was satisfactory. But Joe Blunt 
could not fail to notice that Mahtawa maintained sullen 
silence during the whole course of the meeting. 

He observed also that there was a considerable change in 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


113 


the tone of the meeting when he informed them that he 
was bound on a similar errand of peace to several of the 
other tribes, especially to one or two tribes which were 
the Pawnees’ bitter enemies at that time. These grasping 
savages having quite made up their minds that they were 
to obtain the entire contents of the two bales of goods, 
were much mortified on hearing that part was to go to 
other Indian tribes. Some of them even hinted that this 
would not be allowed, and Joe feared at one time that 
things were going to take an unfavourable turn. The 
hair of his scalp, as he afterwards said, “ began to lift 
a little and feel oneasy.” But San-it-sa-rish stood honestly 
to his word, said that it would be well that the Pale-faces 
and the Pawnees should be brothers, and hoped that 
they would not forget the promise of annual presents 
from the hand of the great chief who lived in the big 
village near the rising sun. 

Having settled this matter amicably, Joe distributed 
among the Indians the proportion of his goods designed 
for them ; and then they all adjourned to another tent, 
where a great feast was prepared for them. 

“ Are ye hungry ? ” inquired Joe of Dick as they walked 
along. 

“ Ay, that am I. I feel as if I could eat a buffalo alive. 
Why, it’s my ’pinion we’ve tasted nothin’ since daybreak 
:his mornin’.” 

“ Well, I’ve often told ye that them Redskins tliink 

a disgrace to give in eatin’ till all that’s set before them 
at a feast is bolted. We’ll ha’ to stretch oursel’s, we will. 

“ I’se got a plenty room,” remarked Henri. 

“ Ye have, but ye’ll wish ye had more in a little.” 

“ Bien, I not care ! ” 

In quarter of an hour all the guests invited to this great 
8 


114 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


“ medicine feast ” were assembled. No women were ad- 
mitted. They never are at Indian feasts. 

We may remark in passing that the word “ medicine,” 
as used among the North American Indians, has a very 
much wider signification than it has with us. It is an 
almost inexplicable word. When asked, they cannot give 
a full or satisfactory explanation of it themselves. In the 
general, we may say that whatever is mysterious is “ medi- 
cine.” Jugglery and conjuring, of a noisy, mysterious, 
and, we must add, rather silly nature, is “ medicine,” 
and the juggler is a “ medicine man.” These medicine 
men undertake cures ; but they are regular charlatans, 
and know nothing whatever of the diseases they pretend 
to cure or their remedies. They carry bags containing 
sundry relics ; these are “ medicine bags.” Every brave 
has his own private medicine bag. Everything that is 
incomprehensible, or supposed to be supernatural, re- 
ligious, or medical, is “ medicine.” This feast being an 
unusual one, in honour of strangers, and in connection 
with a peculiar and unexpected event, was “ medicine.” 
Even Crusoe, since his gallant conduct in saving the Indian 
child, was “ medicine ; ” and Dick Varley’s double- 
barrelled rifie, which had been an object of wonder ever 
since his arrival at the village, was tremendous “ medicine.” 

Of course the Indians were arrayed in their best. Several 
wore necklaces of the claws of the grizzly bear, of which 
they are extremely proud ; and a gaudily picturesque 
group they were. The chief, however, had undergone a 
transformation that well-nigh upset the gravity of our 
hunters, and rendered Dick’s efforts to look solemn quite 
abortive. San-it-sa-rish had once been to the trading- 
forts of the Pale-faces, and while there had received the 
customary gift of a blue surtout with brass buttons, and 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


115 


an ordinary hat, such as gentlemen wear at home. As 
the coat was a good deal too small for him, a terrible 
length of dark, bony wrist appeared below the cuffs. 
The waist was too high, and it was with great difficulty that 
he managed to button the garment across his broad chest. 
Being ignorant of the nature of a hat, the worthy savage 
had allowed the paper and string with which it had been 
originally covered to remain on, supposing them to be 
part and parcel of the hat ; and this, together with the 
high collar of the coat, which gave him a crushed up 
appearance, the long, black naked legs, and the painted 
visage, gave him a tout ensemble which we can compare to 
nothing, as there was nothing in nature comparable to it. 

Those guests who assembled first passed their time in 
smoking the medicine pipe until the others should arrive, 
for so long as a single invited guest is absent the feast 
cannot begin. Dignified silence was maintained while the 
pipe thus circulated from hand to hand. When the last 
guest arrived they began. 

The men were seated in two rows, face to face. Feasts 
of this kind usually consist of but one species of food, 
and on the present occasion it was an enormous caldron 
full of maize which had to be devoured. About fifty sat 
down to eat a quantity of what may be termed thick 
porridge that would have been ample allowance for a 
hundred ordinary men. Before commencing, San-it-sa- 
rish desired an aged medicine man to make an oration, 
which he did fiuently and poetically. Its subject was 
the praise of the giver of the feast. At the end of each 
period there was a general “ hou ! hou ! ” of assent — 
equivalent to “ hear ! hear ! ” of civilized men. 

Other orators then followed, all of whom spoke with 
great ease and fluency, and some in the most impassioned 


116 


THE DOG CRUSOE 


strains, working themselves and their audience up to the 
highest pitch of excitement, now shouting with frenzied 
violence till their eyes glared from their sockets and the 
veins of their foreheads swelled almost to bursting as 
they spoke of war and chase, anon breaking into soft 
modulated and pleasing tones, while they dilated upon the 
pleasures of peace and hospitality. 

After these had finished a number of wooden bowls 
full of maize porridge were put down between the guests — 
one bowl to each couple facing each other. But before 
commencing a portion was laid aside and dedicated to 
their gods, with various mysterious ceremonies ; for here, 
as in other places where the gospel is not known, the poor 
savages fancied that they could propitiate God with 
sacrifices. They had never heard of the “ sacrifice of a 
broken spirit and a contrite heart.” This offering being 
made, the feast began in earnest. Not only was it a rule 
in this feast that every mouthful should be swallowed 
by each guest, however unwilling or unable he should 
be to do so, but he who could dispose of it with greatest 
speed was deemed the greatest man — at least on that 
occasion — while the last to conclude his supper was looked 
upon with some degree of contempt. 

It seems strange that such a custom should ever have 
arisen, and one is not a little puzzled in endeavouring 
to guess at the origin of it. There is one fact that occurs 
to us as the probable cause. The Indian is, as we have 
before hinted, frequently reduced to a state bordering 
on starvation, and in a day after he may be burdened 
with superabundance of food. He oftentimes, therefore, eats 
as much as he can stuff into his body when he is blessed 
with plenty, so as to be the better able to withstand 
the attacks of hunger that may possibly be in store for 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


117 


nim. The amount that an Indian will thus eat at a 
single meal is incredible. He seems to have the power 
of distending himself for the reception of a quantity that 
would kill a civilized man. Children in particular become 
like tightly inflated little balloons after a feast, and as 
they wear no clothing, the extraordinary rotundity is 
very obvious, not to say ridiculous. We conclude there- 
fore that unusual powers of gormandizing, being useful, 
come at last to be cultivated as praiseworthy. 

By good fortune Dick and Joe Blunt happened to have 
such enormous gluttons as vis-a-vis that the portions of 
their respective bowls which they could not devour were 
gobbled up for them. By good capacity and digestion, 
with no small amount of effort, Henri managed to dis- 
pose of his own share ; but he was last of being done, 
and fell in the savages’ esteem greatly. The way in which 
that sticky compost of boiled maize went down was abso- 
lutely amazing. The man opposite Dick, in particular, was a 
human boa-constrictor. He well nigh suffocated Dick 
with suppressed laughter. He was a great raw-boned 
savage, with a throat of indiarubber, and went quickly 
and quietly on swallowing mass after mass with the 
solemn gravity of an owl. It mattered not a straw to 
him that Dick took comparatively small mouthfuls, and 
nearly choked on them too for want of liquid to wash 
them down. Had Dick eaten none at all he would have 
uncomplainingly disposed of the whole. Jack the Giant- 
Killer’s feats were nothing to his ; and when at last the 
bowl was empty, he stopped short like a machine from 
which the steam had been suddenly cut off, and laid down 
his buffalo horn-spoon without a sigh. 

Dick sighed, though with relief and gratitude, when 
his bowl was empty. 


118 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


“I hope I may never have to do it again,” said Joe 
that night as they wended their way back to the chief’s 
tent after supper. “ I wouldn’t be fit for anything for 
a week arter it.” 

Dick could only laugh, for any allusion to the feast 
instantly brought back that owl -like gourmand to whom 
he was so deeply indebted. 

Henri groaned. “ Oh ! mes boy, I am speechless ! I 
am ready for bust ! Oui — hah ! I veesh it vas to-morrow.” 

Many a time that night did Henri “ veesh it vas to- 
morrow,” as he lay helpless on his back, looking up through 
the roof of the chief’s tent at the stars, and listening 
enviously to the plethoric snoring of Joe Blunt. 

He was entertained, however, during those waking 
hours with a serenade such as few civilized ears ever 
listen to. This was nothing else than a vocal concert 
performed by all the dogs of the village, and as they 
amounted to nearly two thousand, the orchestra was a 
pretty full one. 

These wretches howled as if they had all gone mad. 
Yet there was “ method in their madness ; ” for they 
congregated in a crowd before beginning, and sat down 
on their haunches. Then one, which seemed to be the 
conductor, raised his snout to the sky and uttered a long, 
low, melancholy wail. The others took it up by twos and 
threes, until the whole pack had their noses pointing to 
the stars and their throats distended to the uttermost, 
while a prolonged yell filled the air. Then it sank gradually 
one or two (bad performers probably) making a yelping 
attempt to get it up again at the wrong time. Again 
the conductor raised his nose, and out it came — fuH swing. 
There was no vociferous barking. It was simple wolfish 
howling, increased in fervour to an electric yell, with 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


119 


slight barks running continuously through it like an 
obbligato accompaniment. 

When Crusoe first heard the unwonted sound he sprang to 
his feet, bristled up like a hyena, showed all his teeth, and 
bounded out of the tent blazing with indignation and 
astonishment. When he found out what it was he re- 
turned quite sleek, and with a look of profound contempt 
on his countenance as he resumed his place by his master’s 
side and went to sleep. 


CHAPTER X. 

Crusoe acts Policeman. 

D ick VARLEY sat before the fire ruminating. We 
do not mean to assert that Dick had been pre - 
viously eating grass. By no means. For sevefal days 
past he had been mentally subsisting on the remarkable 
things that he heard and saw in the Pawnee village, and 
wondering how he was to get away without being scalped. 
He was now chewing the cud of this intellectual fare. 
We therefore repeat emphatically — in case any reader 
should have presumed to contradict us — that Dick Varley 
sat before the fire rumiimting. 

Joe Blunt likewise sat before the fire along with him, 
ruminating too, and smoking besides. Henri also sat there 
smoking, and looking a little the worse of his late supper. 

“ I don’t like the look o’ things,” said Joe, blowing 
a whiff of smoke slowly from his lips, and watching it 
as it ascended into the still air. “ That blackguard 
Mahtawa is determined not to let us off till he gits all 
our goods ; an’ if he gits them, he may as well take our 
scalps too, for we would come poor speed in the prairies 
without guns, horses, or goods.” 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


121 


Dick looked at his friend with an expression of concern. 
“ What’s to be done ? ” said he. 

“ Ve must escape,” answered Henri ; but his tone was 
not a hopeful one, for he knew the danger of their position 
better than Dick. 

“ Ay, we must escape — at least we must try,” said 
Joe. “ But I’ll make one more effort to smooth over 
San-it-sa-rish, an’ git him to snub that villain Mahtawa.” 

Just as he spoke the villain in question entered the 
tent with a bold, haughty air, and sat down before the 
fire in sullen silence. For some minutes no one spoke, 
and Henri, who happened at the time to be examining 
the locks of Dick’s rifle, continued to inspect them with 
an appearance of careless indifference that he was far 
from feeling. 

Now, this rifle of Dick’s had become a source of in- 
creasing wonder to the Indians — wonder which was greatly 
increased by the fact that no one could discharge it but 
himself. Dick had, during his short stay at the Pawnee 
village, amused himself and the savages by exhibiting 
his marvellous powers with the “ silver rifle.” Since it had 
been won by him at the memorable match in the Mustang 
Valley, it had scarce ever been out of his hand, so that 
he had become decidedly the best shot in the settlement, 
could “ bark ” squirrels (that is, hit the bark of the branch 
on which the squirrel happened to be standing, and so 
kill it by the concussion alone), and could “ drive the 
nail ” every shot. The silver rifle, as we have said, be- 
came “ great medicine ” to the Red-men when they saw 
it kill at a distance which the few wretched guns they 
had obtained from the fur-traders could not even send 
a spent ball to. The double shot, too, filled them with 
wonder and admiration ; but that which they regarded 


122 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


with an almost supernatural feeling of curiosity was the 
percussion cap, which, in Dick’s hands, always exploded, 
but in theirs was utterly useless. 

This result was simply owing to the fact that Dick, 
after firing, handed the rifie to the Indians without re- 
newing the cap ; so that when they loaded and attempted 
to fire, of course it merely snapped. When he wished 
again to fire, he adroitly exchanged the old cap for a new 
one. He was immensely tickled by the solemn looks 
of the Indians at this most incomprehensible of all medi- 
cines,” and kept them for some days in ignorance of the 
true cause, intending to reveal it before he left. But 
circumstances now arose which banished all trifling thoughts 
from his mind. 

Mahtawa raised his head suddenly, and said, pointing 
to the silver rifle, “ Mahtawa wishes to have the two- 
shotted medicine gun. He will give his best horse in 
exchange.” 

“ Mahtawa is liberal,” answered Joe ; “ but the pale- 
faced youth cannot part with it. He has far to travel, 
and must shoot buffaloes by the way.” 

“ The pale-faced youth shall have a bow and arrows 
to shoot the buffalo,” rejoined the Indian. 

“ He cannot use the bow and arrow,” answered Joe. 
“ He has not been trained like the Red-man.” 

Mahtawa was silent for a few seconds, and his dark 
brows frowned more heavily than ever over his eyes. 

“ The Pale-faces are too bold,” he exclaimed, working 
himself into a passion, “ They are in the power of 
Mahtawa. If they will not give the gun he will take it.” 

He sprang suddenly to his feet as he spoke, and snatched 
the rifle from Henri’s hand. 

Henri being ignorant of the language had not been 



MAHTAWA DREW HIS KNIFP: AND SPRAND ON THE RECKLESS HUNTER^ 
WHO, HOWEVER, CAUGHT HIS WRIST, AND HELD IT AS 

IF IN A VICE. 






» 





I 








« 


s 


* 




1 






r 


I 




« 



• \ 


• 



•L 



THE DOG CRUSOE. 


123 


able to understand the foregoing conversation, although 
he saw well enough that it was not an agreeable one ; 
but no sooner did he find himself thus rudely and unex- 
pectedly deprived of the rifle than he jumped up, wrenched 
it in a twinkling from the Indian’s grasp, and hurled 
him violently out of the tent. 

In a moment Mahtawa drew his knife, uttered a savage 
yell, and sprang on the reckless hunter, who, however, 
caught his wrist, and held it as if in a vice. The yell 
brought a dozen warriors instantly to the spot, and before 
Dick had time to recover from his astonishment, Henri was 
surrounded and pinioned despite his herculean struggles. 

Before Dick could move, Joe Bluijt grasped his arm, 
and whispered quickly, “ Don’t rise. You can’t help him. 
They daren’t kill him till San-it-sa-rish agrees.” 

Though much surprised, Dick obeyed, but it required 
all his efforts, both of voice and hand, to control Crusoe, 
whose mind was much too honest and straightforward to 
understand such subtle pieces of diplomacy, and who 
strove to rush to the rescue of his ill-used friend. 

When the tumult had partly subsided, Joe Blunt rose 
and said, — 

“ Have the Pawnee braves turned traitors that they 
draw the knife against those who have smoked with them 
the pipe of peace and eaten their maize ? The Pale-faces 
are three ; the Pawnees are thousands. If evil has been 
done, let it be laid before the chief. Mahtawa wishes 
to have the medicine gun. Although we said. No, we 
could not part with it, he tried to take it by force. Are 
we to go back to the great chief of the Pale-faces and 
say that the Pawnees are thieves ? Are the Pale-faces 
henceforth to tell their children when they steal, ‘ That 
is bad ; that is like the Pawnee ’ ? No ; this must not 


124 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


be. The rifle shall be restored, and we will forget this 
disagreement. Is it not so ? ” 

There was an evident disposition on the part of many 
of the Indians, with whom Mahtawa was no favourite, 
to applaud this speech ; but the wily chief sprang for- 
ward, and, with flashing eyes, sought to turn the tables. 

“ The Pale-face speaks with soft words, but his heart 
is false. Is he not going to make peace with the enemies 
of the Pawnee 1 Is he not going to take goods to them, 
and make them gifts and promises ? The Pale-faces are 
spies. They come to see the weakness of the Pawnee 
camp ; but they have found that it is strong. Shall we 
suffer the false hearts to escape ? Shall they Jive ? No ; 
we will hang their scalps in our wigwams, for they have 
struck a chiefs and we will keep all their goods for our 
squaws — wah ! ” 

This allusion to keeping all the goods had more effect 
on the minds of the vacillating savages than the chief’s 
eloquence But a new turn was given to their thoughts 
by Joe Blunt remarking in a quiet, almost contemptuous 
tone, — 

“ Mahtawa is not the great chief.” 

“True, true,” they cried, and immediately hurried to 
the tent of San-it-sa-rish. 

Once again this chief stood between the hunters and 
the savages, who wanted but a signal to fall on them. 
There was a long palaver, which ended in Henri being 
set at liberty and the rifle being restored. 

That evening, as the three friends sat beside their fire 
eating their supper of boiled maize and buffalo meat, 
they laughed and talked as carelessly as ever ; but the 
gaiety was assumed, for they were at the time planning 
their escape from a tribe which, they foresaw, would not 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 125 

long refrain from carrying out their wishes, and robbing, 
perhaps murdering them. 

“ Ye see,” said Joe with a perplexed air, while he drew 
a piece of live charcoal from the fire with his fingers and 
lighted his pipe — “ ye see, there’s more difficulties in the 
way o’ getting off than ye think — ” 

“ Oh, nivare mind de difficulties,” interrupted Henri, 
whose wrath at the treatment he had received had not 
yet cooled down. “ Ve must jump on de best horses ve 
can git hold, shake our fists at de red reptiles and go 
away fast as ve can. De best hoss must vin de race.” 

Joe shook his head. “ A hundred arrows would be 
in our backs before we got twenty yards from the camp. 
Besides, we can’t tell which are the best horses. Our 
own are the best in my ’pinion, but how are we to git 
’em ? ” 

“ I know who has charge o’ them,” said Dick. “ I 
saw them grazing near the tent o’ that poor squaw whose 
baby was saved by Crusoe. Either her husband looks 
after them or some neighbours.” 

“ That’s well,” said Joe. “ That’s one o’ my difficulties 
gone.” 

“ What are the others ? ” 

“ Well, d’ye see, they’re troublesome. We can’t git the 
horses out o’ the camp without bein’ seen, for the red 
rascals would see what we were at in a jiffy. Then, if 
we do git ’em out, we can’t go off without our bales, an’ 
we needn’t think to take ’em from under the nose o’ 
the chief and his squaws without bein’ axed questions. 
To go off without them would niver do at all.” 

“ Joe,” said Dick earnestly, “ I’ve hit on a plan.” 

“ Have ye, Dick What is’t ? ” 

“ Come and I’ll let ye see,” answered Dick, rising 


128 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


hastily and quitting the tent, followed by his comrades 
and his faithful dog. 

It may be as well to remark here that no restraint what- 
ever had yet been put on the movements of our hunters 
as long as they kept to their legs, for it was well known 
that any attempt by men on foot to escape from mounted 
Indians on the plains would be hopeless. Moreover, the 
savages thought that as long as there was a prospect of 
their being allowed to depart peaceably with their goods, 
they would not be so mad as to fly from the camp, and, 
by so doing, risk their lives and declare war with their 
entertainers. They had therefore been permitted to 
wander unchecked, as yet, far beyond the outskirts of 
the camp, and amuse themselves in paddling about the 
lake in the small Indian canoes and shooting wild-fowl. 

Dick now led the way through the labyrinths of tents 
in the direction of the lake, and they talked and laughed 
loudly, and whistled to Crusoe as they went, in order to 
prevent their purpose being suspected. For the purpose 
of further disarming suspicion, they went without their 
rifles. Dick explained his plan by the way, and it was 
at once warmly approved of by his comrades. 

On reaching the lake they launched a small canoe, 
into which Crusoe was ordered to jump ; then, embarking 
they paddled swiftly to the opposite shore, singing a 
canoe song as they dipped their paddles in the moonlit 
waters of the lake. Arrived at the other side, they hauled 
the canoe up and hurried through the thin belt of wood 
and willows that intervened between the lake and the 
prairie. Here they paused. 

“ Is that the bluff, Joe ? ” 

“ No, Dick ; that’s too near. T’other one’ll be best 
—far away to the right. It’s a little one, and there’s 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 127 

others near it. The sharp eyes o’ the Redskins won’t 
be so likely to be prowlin’ there.” 

“ Come on, then ; but we’ll have to take down by the 
lake first.” 

In a few minutes the hunters were threading their 
way through the outskirts of the wood at a rapid trot, 
in the opposite direction from the bluff, or wooded knoll, 
which they wished to reach. This they did lest prying eyes 
should have followed them. In a quarter of an hour they 
turned at right angles to their tracks, and struck straight 
out into the prairie, and after a long run they edged round 
and came in upon the bluff from behind. It was merely 
a collection of stunted but thick-growing willows. 

Forcing their way into the centre of this they began to 
examine it. 

“ It’ll do,” said Joe. 

“ De very ting,” remarked Henri. 

“ Come here, Crusoe.” 

Crusoe bounded to his master’s side, and looked up 
in his face. 

“ Look at this place, pup ; smell it well.” 

Crusoe instantly set off all round among the willows, 
in and out, snuffing everywhere, and whining with ex- 
citement. 

“ Come here, good pup ; that will do. Now, lads, we’ll 
go back.” So saying, Dick and his friends left the bluff 
and retraced their steps to the camp. Before they had 
gone far, however, Joe halted, and said, — 

“ D’ye know, Dick, I doubt if the pup’s so diver as 
ye think. What if he don’t quite understand ye ? ” 

Dick replied by taking off his cap and throwing it 
down, at the same time exclaiming, “ Take it yonder, 
pup,” and pointing with his hand towards the bluff. The 


128 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


dog seized the cap, and went off with it at full speed 
towards the willows, where it left it, and came galloping 
back for the expected reward — ^not now, as in days of 
old, a bit of meat, but a gentle stroke of its head and 
a hearty clap on its shaggy side. 

“ Good pup ! go now and fetch it.” 

Away he went with a bound, and in a few seconds 
came back and deposited the cap at his master’s feet. 

“ Will that do ? ” asked Dick triumphantly. 

“ Ay, lad, it will. The pup’s worth its weight in goold.” 

“ Oui, I have said, and I say it agen, de dog is human, 
so him is. If not, fat am he ? ” 

Without pausing to reply to this perplexing question, 
Dick stepped forward again, and in half an hour or so 
they were back in the camp. 

“ Now for your part of the work, Joe. Yonder’s the 
squaw that owns the half-drowned baby. Everything 
depends on her.” 

Dick pointed to the Indian woman as he spoke. She 
was sitting beside her tent, and playing at her knee was 
was the identical youngster who had been saved by Crusoe. 

“ I’ll manage it,” said Joe, and walked towards her, 
while Dick and Henri returned to the chief’s tent. 

“ Does the Pawnee woman thank the Great Spirit that 
her child is saved ? ” began Joe as he came up. 

“ She does,” answered the woman, looking up at the 
hunter. “ And her heart is warm to the Pale-faces.” 

After a short silence Joe continued — 

“ The Pawnee chiefs do not love the Pale-faces. Some 
of them hate them.” 

“ The Dark Flower knows it,” answered the woman ; 
“ she is sorry. She would help the Pale-faces if she 
could.” 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


129 


This was uttered in a low tone, and with a meaning 
glance of the eye. 

Joe hesitated again. Could he trust her ? Yes ; the 
feeling that filled her breast and prompted her words 
were not those of the Indian just now : they were those 
of a mother, whose gratitude was too full for utterance. 

“ Will the Dark Flower,” said Joe, catching the name 
she had given herself, “help the Pale-face if he opens 
his heart to her ? Will she risk the anger of her 
nation ? ” 

“ She will,” replied the woman ; “ she will do what 
she can.” 

Joe and his dark friend now dropped their high-sounding 
style of speech, and spoke for some minutes rapidly in 
an undertone. It was finally arranged that on a given 
day, at a certain hour, the woman should take the four 
horses down the shores of the lake to its lower end, as 
if she were going for firewood, there cross the creek at 
the ford, and drive them to the willow bluff, and guard 
them till the hunters should arrive. 

Having settled this, Joe returned to the tent and in- 
formed his comrades of his success. 

During the next three days Joe kept the Indians in 
good humour by giving them one of two trinkets, and 
speaking in glowing terms of the riches of the white men, 
and the readiness with which they would part with them 
to the savages if they would only make peace. 

Meanwhile, during the dark hours of each night, Dick 
managed to abstract small quantities of goods from their 
pack, in room of which he stuffed in pieces of leather to 
keep up the size and appearance. The goods thus taken 
out he concealed about his person, and went off with a 
careless swagger to the outskirts of the village, with 
9 


130 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


Crusoe at his heels. Arrived there, he tied the goods 
in a small piece of deerskin, and gave the bundle to the 
dog, with the injunction, “ Take it yonder, pup.” 

Crusoe took it up at once, darted off at full speed with 
the bundle in his mouth, down the shore of the lake to- 
wards the ford of the river, and was soon lost to view. 
In this way, little by little, the goods were conveyed by 
the faithful dog to the willow bluff and left there, while 
the stuffed pack still remained in safe keeping in the 
chief’s tent. 

Joe did not at first like the idea of thus sneaking off 
from the camp, and more than once made strong efforts 
to induce San-it-sa-rish to let him go ; but even that 
chief’s countenance was not so favourable as it had been. 
It was clear that he could not make up his mind to let 
so good a chance of obtaining guns, powder and shot, 
horses, and goods, without any trouble, so Joe made up 
his mind to give them the slip at once. 

A dark night was chosen for the attempt, and the 
Indian woman went off with the horses to the place where 
firewood for the camp was usually cut. Unfortunately 
the suspicion of that wily savage Mahtawa had been 
awakened, and he stuck close to the hunters all day — 
not knowing what was going on, but feeling convinced 
that something was brewing which he resolved to watch, 
without mentioning his suspicions to anyone. 

“ I think that villain’s away at last,” whispered Joe 
to his comrades. “ It’s time to go, lads ; the moon won’t 
be up for an hour. Come along.” 

“ Have ye got the big powder-horn, Joe ? ” 

“ Ay, ay, all right.” 

“ Stop ! stop ! my knife, my couteau ! Ah, here I be ! 
Now, boy.” 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


131 


The three set off as usual, strolling carelessly to the 
outskirts of the camp ; then they quickened their pace, 
and gaining the lake, pushed off in a small canoe. 

At the same moment Mahtawa stepped from the bushes, 
leaped into another canoe, and followed them. 

“ Ha ! he must die,” muttered Henri. 

“ Not at all,” said Joe ; “ we’ll manage him without 
that.” 

The chief landed and strode boldly up to them, for he 
knew well that whatever their purpose might be they 
would not venture to use their rifles within sound of the 
camp at that hour of the night. As for their knives, he 
could trust to his own active limbs and the woods to 
escape and give the alarm if need be. 

“ The Pale-faces hunt very late,” he said, with a ma- 
licious grin. “ Do they love the dark better than the 
sunshine ? ” 

“ Not so,” replied Joe coolly ; “Jbut we love to walk 
by the light of the moon. It will be up in less than an 
hour, and we mean to take a long ramble to-night.” 

“ The Pawnee chief loves to walk by the moon, too ; 
he will go with the Pale-faces.” 

“ Good ! ” ejaculated Joe. “ Come along, then.” 

The party immediately set forward, although the savage 
was a little taken by surprise at the indifferent way in 
which Joe received his proposal to accompany them. He 
walked on to the edge of the prairie, however, and then 
stopped. 

“ The Pale-faces must go alone,” said he ; “ Mahtawa 
will return to his tent.” 

Joe replied to this intimation by seizing him suddenly 
by the throat and choking back the yell that would other- 
wise have brought the Pawnee warriors rushing to the 


132 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


scene of action in hundreds. Mahtawa’s hand was on 
on the handle of his scalping-knife in a moment, but 
before he could draw it his arms were glued to his sidei 
by the bear-like embrace of Henri, while Dick tied a 
handkerchief quickly yet firmly round his mouth. The 
whole thing was accomplished in two minutes. After 
taking his knife and tomahawk away, they loosened their 
grip and escorted him swiftly over the prairie. 

Mahtawa was perfectly submissive after the first con- 
vulsive struggle was over. He knew that the men who 
walked on each side of him grasping his arms were more 
than his match singly, so he wisely made no resistance. 

Hurrying him to a clump of small trees on the plain 
which was so far distant from the village that a yell could 
not be heard, they removed the bandage from Mahtawa’s 
mouth. 

“ Must he be kill ? ” inquired Henri, in a tone of com- 
miseration. 

“ Not at all,” answered Joe ; “ we’ll tie him to a tree 
and leave him here.” 

“ Then he vill be starve to deaf. Oh, dat is more 
horr obeli ! ” 

“ He must take his chance o’ that. I’ve no doubt his 
friends’ll find him in a day or two, an’ he’s game to last 
for a week or more. But you’ll have to run to the willow 
bluff, and bring a bit of line to tie him. We can’t spare 
it well ; but there’s no help.” 

“ But there is help,” retorted Dick. “ Just order the 
Hllain to climb into that tree.” 

“ Why so, lad ? ” 

“ Don’t ask questions, but do what I bid ye.” 

The hunter smiled for a moment as he turned to the 
Indian, and ordered him to climb up a small tree near 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


133 


to which he stood. Mahtawa looked surprised, but there 
was no alternative. Joe’s authoritative tone brooked no 
delay, so he sprang into the tree like a monkey. 

“ Crusoe,” said Dick, “ watch him ! ” 

The dog sat quietly down at the foot of the tree and 
fixed his eyes on the savage with a glare that spoke un- 
utterable things. At the same time he displayed his full 
complement of teeth, and uttered a sound like distant 
thunder. 

Joe almost laughed, and Henri did laugh outright. 

“ Come along ; he’s safe safe now,” cried Dick, hurrying 
away in the direction of the willow bluff, which they soon 
reached, and found that the faithful squaw had tied their 
steeds to the bushes, and, moreover, had bundled up their 
goods into a pack, and strapped it on the back of the 
pack-horse ; but she had not remained with them. 

“ Bless yer dark face ! ” ejaeulated Joe, as he sprang 
into the saddle and rode out of the clump of bushes. He 
was followed immediately by the others, and in three 
minutes they were flying over the plain at full speed. 

On gaining the last far-off ridge, that afforded a dis- 
tant view of the woods skirting the Pawnee camp, they 
drew up ; and Dick, putting his fingers to his mouth, 
drew a long, shrill whistle. 

It reached the willow bluff like a faint echo. At the same 
moment the moon arose and more clearly revealed Crusoe’s 
cataleptic glare at the Indian chief, who, being utterly 
unarmed, was at the dog’s mercy. The instant the whistle 
fell on his ear, however, he dropped his eyes, covered 
his teeth, and, leaping through the bushes, flew over the 
plains like an arrow. At the same instant Mahtawa, 
descending from his tree, ran as fast as he could towards 
the village, uttering the terrible war-whoop when near 


134 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


enough to be heard. No sound sends such a thrill through 
an Indian camp. Every warrior flew to arms, and vaulted 
on his steed. So quickly was the alarm given that in 
less than ten minutes a thousand hoofs were thundering 
on the plain, and faintly reached the ears of the fugitives. 

Joe smiled. “ It’ll puzzle them to come up wi’ nags 
like ours. They’re in prime condition, too — lots o’ wind 
in ’em. If we only keep out o’ badger holes we may laugh 
at the red varmints.” 

Joe’s opinion of Indian horses was correct. In a very 
few minutes the sound of hoofs died away ; but the 
fugitives did not draw bridle during the remainder of 
that night, for they knew not how long the pursuit might 
be continued. By pond, and brook, and bluff they passed, 
down in the grassy bottoms and over the prairie waves, 
nor checked their headlong course till the sun blazed 
over the level sweep of the eastern plain as if it arose 
out of the mighty ocean. 

Then they sprang from the saddle, and hastily set 
about the preparation of their morning meal. 


CHAPTER XI 


Over the Prairie. 

^ I ' ''HERE is nothing that prepares one so well for the 
enjoyment of rest, both mental and physical, as 
a long protracted period of excitement and anxiety, 
followed up by bcddily fatigue. Excitement alone banishes 
rest ; but, united with severe physical exertion, it prepares 
for it. At least, courteous reader, this is our experience ; 
and certainly this was the experience of our three hunters 
as they lay on their backs beneath the branches of a 
willow bush and gazed serenely up at the twinkling stars 
two days after their escape from the Indian village. 

They spoke little ; they were too tired for that, also 
they were too comfortable. Their respective suppers of fresh 
antelope steak, shot that day, had just been disposed 
of. Their feet were directed towards the small fire on 
which the said steaks had been cooked, and which threw 
a warm, ruddy glow over the encampment. Their blankets 
were wrapped comfortably round them, and tucked m 
as only hunters and mothers know how to tuck them in. 
Their respective pipes delivered forth, at stated intervals, 
three richly yellow puffs of smoke, as if a three-gun battery 


136 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


were playing upon the sky from that particular spot of 
earth. The horses were picketed and hobbled in a rich 
grassy bottom close by, from which the quiet munch of 
their equine jaws sounded pleasantly, for it told of healthy 
appetites, and promised speed on the morrow. The fear 
of being overtaken during the night was now past, and 
the faithful Crusoe, by virtue of sight, hearing, and smell, 
guaranteed them against sudden attack during the hours 
of slumber. A perfume of wild flowers mingled with the 
loved odours of the “ weed,” and the tinkle of a tiny 
rivulet, fell sweetly on their ears. In short, the ** Pale- 
faces ” were supremely happy, and disposed to be thank- 
ful for their recent deliverance and their present comforts. 

“ I wonder what the stars are,” said Dick, languidly 
taking the pipe out of his mouth. 

“ Bits o* fire,” suggested Joe. 

“ I tink dey are vorlds,” muttered Henri, “ an’ have 
peepels in dem. I have hear men say dat.” 

A long silence followed, during which, no doubt, the 
star-gazers were working out various theories in their 
own minds. 

“ Wonder,” said Dick again, “ how far off they be.” 

“ A mile or two, maybe,” said Joe. 

Henri was about to laugh sarcastically at this, but on 
further consideration he thought it would be more com- 
fortable not to, so he lay still. In another minute he 
said, — 

“ Joe Blunt, you is ver’ igrant. Don’t you know dat 
de books say de stars be hondreds, tousands — oh ! miller- 
yons of mile away to here, and dat dey is more bigger 
dan dis vorld ? ” 

Joe snored lightly, and his pipe fell out of his mouth 
at this point, so the conversation dropped Presently 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 13V 

Dick asked in a low tone, “ I say, Henri, are ye 
asleep ? ” 

“ Oui,” replied Henri faintly. “ Don’t speak, or you 
vill vaken me.” 

“ Ah, Crusoe ! you’re not asleep, are you pup ? ” No 
need to ask that question. The instantaneous wag of 
that speaking tail and the glance of that wakeful eye, as 
the dog lifted his head and laid his chin on Dick’s arm, 
showed that he had been listening to every word that 
was spoken. We cannot say whether he understood it, 
but beyond all doubt he heard it. Crusoe never presumed 
to think of going to sleep until his master was as sound 
as a top, then he ventured to indulge in that light species 
of slumber which is familiarly known as “ sleeping with 
one eye open.” But, comparatively as well as figura- 
tively speaking, Crusoe slept usually with one eye and a 
half open, and the other half was never very tightly 
shut. 

Gradually Dick’s pipe fell out of his mouth, an event 
which the dog, with an exercise of instinct almost, if not 
quite, amounting to reason, regarded as a signal for him 
to go off. The camp fire went slowly out, the stars twinkled 
down their reflections in the brook, and a deep breathing 
of wearied men was the only sound that rose in harmony 
with the purling stream. 

Before the sun rose next morning, and while many of 
the brighter stars were still struggling for existence with 
the approaching day, Joe was up and buckling on the 
saddle-bags, while he shouted to his unwilling companions 
to rise. 

“If it depended on you,” he said, “ the Pawnees 
wouldn’t be long afore they got our scalps. Jump, ye 
dogs, an’ lend a hand, will ye ? ” 


138 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


A snore from Dick and a deep sight from Henri was 
the answer to this pathetic appeal. It so happened, how- 
ever, that Henri’s pipe, in falling from his lips, had emptied 
the ashes just under his nose, so that the sigh referred to 
drew a quantity thereof into his throat and almost choked 
him. He was up in a moment coughing vociferously. 
Most men have a tendency to vent ill -humour on some 
one, and they generally do it on one whom they deem 
to be worse than themselves. Henri therefore, instead of 
growling at Joe for rousing him, scolded Dick for not 
rising. 

“ Ha, mauvais dog ! bad chien ! vill you dare to look 
to me ? ” 

Crusoe did look with amiable placidity, as though to 
say, “ Howl away, old boy, I won’t budge till Dick does.” 

With a mighty effort Giant Sleep was thrown off at last, 
and the hunters were once more on their journey, cantering 
lightly over the soft turf. 

“ Ho, let’s have a run ! ” cried Dick, unable to repress 
the feelings aroused by the exhilarating morning air. 

“ Have a care, boy,” cried Joe, as they stretched out 
at full gallop. “ Keep off the ridge ; it’s riddled wi’ 
badger — Ha ! I thought so.” 

At that moment Dick’s horse put its foot into a badger 
hole and turned completely over, sending its rider through 
the air in a curve that an East Indian acrobat would have 
envied. For a few seconds Dick lay flat on his back ; 
then he jumped up and laughed, while his comrades 
hurried up anxiously to his assistance. 

“ No bones broke ? ” inquired Joe. 

Dick gave a hysterical gasp. “ I — I think not.” 

“ Let’s have a look. No, nothin’ to speak o’, be good 
luck. Ye should niver go slap through a badger country 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 139 

like that, boy ; always keep i’ the bottoms, where the 
grass is short. Now then, up ye go. That’s it ! ” 

Dick remounted, though not with quite so elastic a 
spring as usual, and they pushed forward at a more reason- 
able pace. 

Accidents of this kind are of common occurrence in the 
prairies. Some horses, however, are so well trained that 
they look sharp out for these holes, which are generally 
found to be most numerous on the high and dry grounds. 
But in spite of all the caution both of man and horse, 
many ugly falls take place, and sometimes bones are broken. 

They had not gone far after this incident when an 
antelope leaped from a clump of willows, and made for 
a belt of woodland that lay along the margin of a stream 
not half a mile off. 

“ Hurrah ! ” cried Dick, forgetting his recent fall. 
“ Come along, Crusoe.” And away they went again full 
tilt, for the horse had not been injured by its somersault. 

The antelope which Dick was thus wildly pursuing was 
of the same species as the one he had shot some time 
before — namely, the prong-horned antelope. These grace- 
ful creatures have long, slender limbs, delicately-formed 
heads, and large beautiful eyes. The horns are black, 
and rather short ; they have no branches, like the antlers 
of the red-deer, but have a single projection on each horn 
near the head, and the extreme points of the horns curve 
suddenly inwards, forming the hook or prong from which 
the name of the animal is derived. Their colour is dark 
yellowish brown. They are so fleet that not one horse 
in a hundred can overtake them ; and their sight and 
sense of smell are so acute that it would be next to im- 
possible to kill them, were it not for the inordinate curiosity 
which we have before referred to. The Indians manage 


140 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


to attract these simple little creatures by merely lying 
down on their backs and kicking their heels in the air, 
or by waving any white object on the point of an arrow, 
while the hunter keeps concealed by lying flat in the 
grass. By these means a herd of antelope may be in- 
duced to wheel round and round an object in timid but 
intense surprise, gradually approaching until they come 
near enough to enable the hunter to make sure of his 
mark. Thus the animals which of all others ought to be 
the most difficult to slay, are, in consequence of their 
insatiable curiosity, more easily shot than any other deer 
of the plains. 

May we not gently suggest to the reader for his or her 
consideration that there are human antelopes, so to speak, 
whose case bears a striking resemblance to the prong- 
horn of the North American prairie ? 

Dick’s horse was no match for the antelope, neither was 
Crusoe ; so they pulled up shortly and returned to their 
companions, to be laughed at, 

“ It’s no manner o’ use to wind yer horse, lad, after 
sich game. They’re not much worth, an’, if I mistake 
not, we’ll be among the buffalo soon. There’s fresh tracks 
everywhere, and the herds are scattered now. Ye see, 
when they keep together in bands o’ thousands ye don’t 
so often fall in wi’ them. But when they scatters about 
in twos and threes, an’ sixes, ye may shoot them every 
day as much as ye please.” 

Several groups of buffalo had already been seen on the 
horizon, but as a red-deer had been shot in a belt of 
woodland the day before they did not pursue them. The 
red-deer is very much larger than the prong-horned ante- 
lope, and is highly esteemed both for its flesh and its 
skin, which latter becomes almost like chamois leather 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


141 


when dressed. Notwithstanding this supply of food, the 
hunters could not resist the temptation to give chase 
to a herd of about nine buffaloes that suddenly came 
into view as they overtopped an undulation in the 
plain. 

“ It’s no use,” cried Dick ; “ I must go at them ! ” 

Joe himself caught fire from the spirit of his young 
friend, so calling to Henri to come on and let the pack- 
horse remain to feed, he dashed away in pursuit. The 
buffaloes gave one stare of surprise, and then fied as fast 
as possible. At first it seemed as if such huge, unwieldly 
carcasses could not run very fast ; but in a few minutes 
they managed to get up a pace that put the horses to 
their mettle. Indeed, at first it seemed as if the hunters 
did not gain an inch ; but by degrees they closed with 
them for the buffaloes are not long-winded. 

On nearing the herd, the three men diverged from 
each other and selected their animals. Henri, being 
short-sighted, naturally singled out the largest ; and the 
largest — also naturally — was a tough old bull. J oe brought 
down a fat young cow at the first shot, and Dick was 
equally fortunate. But he well-nigh shot Crusoe, who, 
just as he was about to fire, rushed in unexpectedly and 
sprang at the animal’s throat, for which piece of reckless- 
ness he was ordered back to watch the pack-horse. 

Meanwhile, Henri, by dint of yelling, throwing his arms 
wildly about, and digging his heels into the sides of his 
long-legged horse, succeeded in coming close up with the 
bull, which once or twice turned its clumsy body half 
round and glared furiously at its pursuer with its small 
black eyes. Suddenly it stuck out its tail, stopped short, 
and turned full round. Henri stopped short also. Now, 
the sticking out of a buffalo’s tail has a peculiar significance 


142 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


which it is well to point out. It serves in a sense, the 
same purpose to the hunter that the compass does to the 
mariner — it points out where to go and what to do. When 
galloping away in ordinary flight, the buffalo carries his 
tail like ordinary cattle, which indicates that you may 
push on. When wounded, he lashes it from side to side, 
or carries it over his back, up in the air ; this indicates, 
“ Look out ! haul off a bit ! ” But when he carries it 
stiff and horizontal, with a slight curve in the middle of 
it, it says plainly, “ Keep back, or kill me as quick as 
you can,” for that is what Indians call the mud tail, and 
is a sign that mischief is brewing. 

Henri’s bull displayed the mad tail just before turning 
but he didn’t observe it, and, accordingly, waited for the 
bull to move and show his shoulder for a favourable shot. 

But instead of doing this he put his head down, and, 
foaming with rage, went at him full tilt. The big horse 
never stirred ; it seemed to be petrified. Henri had just 
time to fire at the monster’s neck, and the next moment 
was sprawling on his back, with the horse rolling over four 
or five yards beyond him. It was a most effective 
tableau — Henri rubbing his shins and grinning with pain, 
the horse gazing in affright as he rose trembling from the 
plain, and the buffalo bull looking on half stunned, and 
evidently very much surprised at the result of his charge. 

Fortunately, before he could repeat the experiment, 
Dick galloped up and put a ball through his heart. 

Joe and his comrades felt a little ashamed of their 
exploit on this occasion, for there was no need to have 
killed three animals — they could not have carried with 
them more than a small portion of one — and they up- 
braided themselves several times during the operation of 
cutting out the tongues and other choice portions of the 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


143 


two victims. As for the bull, he was almost totally 
useless, so they left him as a gift to the wolves. 

Now that they had come among the buffalo, wolves 
were often seen sneaking about and licking their hungry 
jaws ; but although they approached pretty near to the 
camp at nights, they did not give the hunters any concern. 
Even Crusoe became accustomed to them at last, and 
ceased to notice them. These creatures are very dangerous 
sometimes, however, and when hard pressed by hunger, 
will even attack man. The day after this hunt the 
travellers came upon a wounded old buffalo which had 
evidently escaped from the Indians (for a couple of arrows 
were sticking in its side) only to fall a prey to his deadly 
enemies, the white wolves. These savage brutes hang on 
the skirts of the herds of buffaloes to attack and devour 
any one that may chance from old age or from being 
wounded, to linger behind the rest. The buffalo is tough 
and fierce however, and fights so desperately, that al- 
though surrounded by fifty or a hundred wolves, he 
keeps up the unequal combat for several days before he 
fihally succumbs. 

The old bull that our travellers discovered had evidently 
been long engaged with his ferocious adversaries, for his 
limbs and flesh were torn in shreds in many places, and 
blood was streaming from his sides. Yet he had fought 
so gallantly that he had tossed and stamped to death 
dozens of the enemy. There could not have been fewer 
than fifty wolves round him ; and they had just concluded 
another of many futile attacks when the hunters came 
up, for they were ranged in a circle round their huge 
adversary — some lying down, some sitting on their 
haunches to rest, and others sneaking about, lolling out 
their red tongues and licking their chops as if impatient 


144 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


to renew the combat. The poor buffalo was nearly spent, 
and it was clear that a few hours more would see him 
tom to shreds and his bones picked clean. 

“ Ugh ! de brutes,” ejaculated Henri. 

“ They don’t seem to mind us a bit,” remarked Dick, 
as they rode up to within pistol shot. 

“ It’ll be merciful to give that old fellow a shot,” said 
Joe. “ Them varmints are sure to finish him at 
last.” 

Joe raised his rifie as he spoke, and fired. The old 
bull gave his last groan and fell, while the wolves, alarmed 
by the shot, fled in all directions ; but they did not run 
far. They knew well that some portion, at least, of the 
carcass would fall to their share ; so they sat down at 
various distances all round, to wait as patiently as they 
might for the hunters to retire. Dick left the scene with 
a feeling of regret that the villainous wolves should have 
their feast so much sooner than they expected. 

Yet, after all, why should we call these wolves villainous ? 
They did nothing wrong — nothing contrary to the laws 
of their peculiar nature. Nay, if we come to reason upon 
it, they rank higher in this matter than man ; for while the 
wolf does no violence to the laws of its instincts, man 
often deliberately silences the voice of conscience, and 
violates the laws of his own nature. But we will not 
insist on the term, good reader, if you object strongly 
to it. We are willing to admit that the wolves are not 
villainous, but, assuredly, they are unlovable. 

In the course of the afternoon the three horsemen 
reached a small creek, the banks of which were lined 
with a few stunted shrubs and trees. Having eaten 
nothing since the night before, they dismounted here 
to “ feed,” as Joe expressed it. 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


145 


“Cur’ous thing,” remarked Joe, as he struck a light 
by means of flint, steel, and tinder-box — “ cur’ous thing 
that we are made to need such a lot a grub. If we could 
only get on like the sarpints, now, wot can breakfast 
on a rabbit, and then wait a month or two for dinner ! 
Ain’t it cur’ous ? ” 

Dick admitted that it was, and stooped to blow the 
fire into a blaze. 

Here Henri uttered a cry of consternation, and stood 
speechless, with his mouth open. 

“ What’s the matter ? what is’t ? ” cried Dick and 
Joe, seizing their rifles instinctively. 

“ De — grub — him — be — forgat I ” 

There was a look of blank horror, and then a burst 
of laughter from Dick Varley. “Well, well,” cried he, 
“ we’ve got lots o’ tea an’ sugar, an’ some flour ; we can 
git on wi’ that till we shoot another buffalo, or a — ha ! ” 

Dick observed a wild turkey stalking among the willows 
as he spoke. It was fully a hundred yards off, and only 
its head was seen above the leaves. This was a matter 
of little moment, however, for by aiming a little lower 
he knew that he must hit the body. But Dick had driven 
the nail too often to aim at its body ; he aimed at the 
bird’s eye, and cut its head off. 

“ Fetch it, Crusoe.” 

In three minutes it was at Dick’s feet, and it is not 
too much to say that in five minutes more it was in the 
pot. 

As this unexpected supply made up for the loss of the 
meat which Henri had forgotten at their last halting- 
place, their equanimity was restored ; and while the meal 
was in preparation Dick shouldered his rifle and went 
into the bush to try for another turkey. He did not 
10 


146 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


get one, however, but he shot a couple of prairie hens, 
which are excellent eating. Moreover, he found a large 
quantity of wild grapes and plums. These were un- 
fortunately not nearly ripe, but Dick resolved to try his 
hand at a new dish, so he stuffed the breast of his coat 
full of them. 

After the pot was emptied, Dick washed it out, and 
put a little clean water in it. Then he poured some 
flour in, and stirred it well. While this was heating, 
he squeezed the sour grapes and plums into what Joe 
called a “ mush,” mixed it with a spoonful of sugar, 
and emptied it into the pot. He also skimmed a quantity 
of the fat from the remains of the turkey soup and added 
that to the mess, which he stirred with earnest diligence 
till it boiled down into a sort of thick porridge. 

“ D’ye think it’ll be good ? ” asked Joe gravely ; I’ve 
me doubts of it.” 

“ We’ll see.— Hold the tin dish, Henri.” 

“ Take care of de fingers. Ha ! it looks magnifique — 
superb ! ” 

The first spoonful produced an expression on Henri’s 
face that needed not to be interpreted. It was as sour 
as vinegar. 

“ Ye’ll ha’ to eat it yerself, Dick, lad,” cried Joe, throwing 
down his spoon, and spitting out the unsavoury mess. 

“ Nonsense,” cried Dick, bolting two or three mouthfuls 
and trying to look as if he liked it. “ Try again ; it’s 
not so bad as you think.” 

“ Ho-o-o-o-o ! ” cried Henri, after the second mouthful 
“ ’Tis vinegre. All de sugare in the pack would not make 
more sweeter one bite of it.” 

Dick was obliged to confess the dish a failure, so it 
was thrown out after having been offered to Crusoe, who 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 147 

gave it one sniff and turned away in silence. Then they 
mounted and resumed their journey. 

At this place mosquitoes and horse-flies troubled our 
hunters and their steeds a good deal. The latter 
especially were very annoying to the poor horses. They bit 
them so much that the blood at last came trickling down 
there sides. They were troubled also, once or twice, by 
cockchafers and locusts, which annoyed them, not indeed 
by biting, but by flying blindly against their faces, and 
often narrowly missed hitting them in the eyes. Once par- 
ticularly they were so bad that Henri in his wrath opened 
his lips to pronounce malediction on the whole race, when 
a cockchafer flew straight into his mouth, and, to use 
his own forcible expression, “ nearly knocked him off do 
boss.*’ But these were minor evils* and scarcely cost the 
hunters a thought. 


CHAPTER XII 


Chased by Indians. 

F or many days the three hunters wandered over the 
trackless prairie in search of a village of the Sioux 
Indians, but failed to find one, for the Indians 
were in the habit of shifting their ground and following 
the buffalo. Several times they saw small isolated bands 
of Indians ; but these they carefully avoided, fearing 
they might turn out to be war parties, and if they fell 
into their hands the white men could not expect civil 
treatment, whatever nation the Indians might belong to. 

During the greater portion of this time they met with 
numerous herds of buffalo and deer, and were well supplied 
with food ; but they had to cook it during the day, being 
afraid to light a fire at night while Indians were prowling 
about. 

One night they halted near the bed of a stream which 
was almost dry. They had travelled a day and a night 
without water, and both men and horses were almost 
choking, so that when they saw the trees on the horizon 
which indicated the presence of a stream, they pushed 
forward with almost frantic haste. 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


149 


“ Hope it’s not dry,” said Joe anxiously as they galloped 
up to it. “ No, there’s water, lads,” and they dashed 
forward to a pool that had not yet been dried up. They 
drank long and eagerly before they noticed that the pool 
was strongly impregnated with salt. Many streams in 
those parts of the prairies are quite salt ; but fortunately 
this one was not utterly undrinkable, though it was very 
unpalatable. 

“ We’ll make it better, lads,” said Joe, digging a deep 
hole in the sand with his hands, a little below the 
pool. In a short time the water filtered through, and 
though not rendered fresh, it was nevertheless much 
improved. 

“We may light a fire to-night, d’ye think ? ” inquired 
Dick ; “ we’ve not seed Injuns for some days.” 

“ P’raps ’twould be better not,” said Joe ; “ but I 
daresay we’re safe enough.” 

A fire was therefore lighted in as sheltered a spot as 
could be found, and the three friends bivouacked as usual. 
Towards dawn they were aroused by an angry growl from 
Crusoe. 

“ It’s a wolf likely,” said Dick, but all three seized 
and cocked their rifles nevertheless. 

Again Crusoe growled more angrily than before, and 
springing out of the camp snuffed the breeze anxiously. 

“ Up, lads ! catch the nags ! There’s something in the 
wind, for the dog niver did that afore.” 

In a few seconds the horses were saddled and the packs 
secured. 

“ Call in the dog,” whispered Joe Blunt ; “ if he barks 
they’ll find out our whereabouts.” 

“ Here, Crusoe, come — ” 

It was too late; the dog barked loudly and savagely 


160 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


at the moment^ and a troop of Indians came coursing over 
the plain. On hearing the unwonted sound they wheeled 
directly and made for the camp. 

“ It’s a war party ; fly, lads ! Nothin’ ’ll save our 
scalps now but our horses’ heels,” cried Joe. 

In a moment they vaulted into the saddle and urged 
their steeds forward at the utmost speed. The savages 
observed them, and with an exulting yell dashed after 
them. Feeling that there was now no need of concealment, 
the three horsemen struck off into the open prairie, in- 
tending to depend entirely on the speed and stamina of 
their horses. As we have before remarked, they were good 
ones ; but the Indians soon proved that they were equally 
well if not better mounted. 

“ It’ll be a hard run,” said Joe in a low, muttering tone, 
and looldng furtively over his shoulder. “ The varmints 
are mounted on wild horses — leastways they were wild not 
long agone. Them chaps can throw the lasso and trip a 
mustang as well as a Mexican. Mind the badger-holes, 
Dick. Hold in a bit, Henri ; yer nag don’t need drivin’ ; a 
foot in a hole just now would cost us our scalps. Keep 
down by the creek, lads.” 

“ Ha ! now dey yell,” said Henri in a savage tone, 
looking back, and shaking his rifle at them, an act that 
caused them to yell more fiercely than ever. “ Dis old 
pack-hoss give me moche trobel.” 

The pace was now tremendous. Pursuers and pursued 
rose and sank on the prairie billows as they swept along, 
till they came to what is termed a “ dividing ridge,” which 
is a cross wave, as it were, that cuts the others in two, thus 
forming a continuous level. Here they advanced more 
easily ; but the advantage was equally shared with their 
pursuers, who continued the headlong pursuit with oc- 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


l6i 


casional yells, which served to show the fugitives that they 
at least did not gain ground. 

A little to the right of the direction in which they were 
flying a blue line was seen on the horizon. This indicated 
the existence of trees to Joe’s practised eyes, and feeling 
that if the horses broke down they could better make a 
last manful stand in the wood than on the plain he urged 
his steed towards it. The savages noticed the movement 
at once, and uttered a yell of exultation, for they regarded 
it as an evidence that the fugitives doubted the strength 
of their horses. 

“ Ye haven’t got us yet,” muttered Joe, with a sardonic 
grin. “ If they get near us, Dick, keep yer eyes open an’ 
look out for yer neck, else they’ll drop a noose over it, 
they will, afore ye know they’re near, an’ haul ye off like 
a sack.” 

Dick nodded in reply, but did not speak, for at that 
moment his eye was fixed on a small creek ahead which they 
must necessarily leap or dash across. It was lined with 
clumps of scattered shrubbery, and he glanced rapidly for 
the most suitable place to pass. Joe and Henri did the 
same, and having diverged a little to the different points 
chosen, they dashed through the shrubbery and were hid 
from each other’s view. On approaching the edge of the 
stream, Dick found, to his consternation, that the bank was 
twenty feet high opposite him, and too wide for any horse 
to clear. Wheeling aside without checking speed, at the 
risk of throwing his steed, he rode along the margin of the 
stream for a few hundred yards until he found a ford — 
at least such a spot as might be cleared by a bold leap. The 
temporary check, however, had enabled an Indian to gain 
so close upon his heels ‘that his exulting yell sounded close 
in his ear. 


162 


THE DOG CRUSO^:. 


With a vigorous bound his gallant little horse went 
over. Crusoe could not take it, but he rushed down the 
one bank and up the other, so that he only lost a few 
yards. These few yards, however, were sufficient to bring 
the Indian close upon him as he cleared the stream at full 
gallop. The savage whirled his lasso swiftly round for a 
second, and in another moment Crusoe uttered a tremen- 
dous roar as he tripped up violently on the plain. 

Dick heard the cry of his faithful dog, and turned 
quickly round, just in time to see him spring at the horse’s 
throat, and bring both steed and rider down upon him. 
Dick’s heart leaped to his throat. Had a thousand savages 
been rushing on him he would have flown to the rescue 
of his favourite ; but an unexpected obstacle came in the 
way. His fiery little steed, excited by the headlong race 
and the howls of the Indians, had taken the bit in his teeth 
and was now unmanageable. Dick tore at the reins like 
a maniac, and in the height of his frenzy even raised the 
butt of his rifle with the intent to strike the poor horse to 
the earth, but his better nature prevailed. He checked 
the uplifted hand, and with a groan dropped the reins, 
and sank almost helplessly forward on the saddle ; for 
several of the Indians had left the main body and were 
pursuing him alone, so that there would have been now no 
chance of his reaching the place where Crusoe fell, even if 
he could have turned his horse. 

Spiritless, and utterly indifferent to what his fate might 
be, Dick Varley rode along with his head drooping, and 
keeping his seat almost mechanically, while the mettle- 
some little steed flew on over wave and hollow. Gradually 
he awakened from this state of despair to a sense of danger. 
Glancing round he observed that the Indians were now far 
behind him, though still pursuing. He also observed that 



DICK HEARD THE CKY OF HIS FAITHFUL DOG, AND TURNED QUICKLY 
ROUND, JUST IN TIME TO SEE HIM SPRING AT THE 

horse’s throat. 




THE DOG CRUSOE. 


163 


his companions were galloping miles away on the horizon 
to the left, and that he had foolishly allowed the savages 
to get between him and them. The only chance that 
remained for him was to outride his pursuers, and circle 
round towards his comrades ; and this he hoped to ac- 
complish, for his little horse had now proved itself to be 
superior to those of the Indians, and there was good running 
in him still. 

Urging him forward, therefore, he soon, left the savages 
still farther behind, and feeling confident that they could 
not now overtake him he reined up and dismounted. The 
pursuers quickly drew near, but short though it was the 
rest did his horse good. Vaulting into the saddle, he 
again stretched out, and now skirted along the ma-rgin of 
a wood which seemed to mark the position of a river of 
considerable size. 

At this moment his horse put his foot into a badger-hole, 
and both of them came heavily to the ground. In an 
instant Dick rose, picked up his gun, and leaped unhurt 
into the saddle. But on urging his poor horse forward 
he found that its shoulder was badly sprained. There 
was no room for mercy, however — life and death were in 
the balance — so he plied the lash vigorously, and the noble 
steed warmed into something like a run, when again it 
stumbled, and fell with a crash on the ground, while the 
blood burst from its mouth and nostrils. Dick could hear 
the shout of triumph uttered by his pursuers. 

“ My poor, poor horse ! ” he exclaimed in a tone of the 
deepest commiseration, while he stooped and stroked its 
foam-studded neck. 

The dying steed raised its head for a moment, it almost 
seemed as if to acknowledge the tones of affection, then it 
sank down with a gurgling groan. 


154 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


Dick sprang up, for the Indians were now upon him, and 
bounded like an antelope into the thickest of the shrubbery ; 
which was nowhere thick enough, however, to prevent the 
Indians following. Still, it sufficiently retarded them to 
render the chase a more equal one than could have been 
expected. In a few minutes Dick gained a strip of open 
ground beyond, and found himself on the bank of a broad 
river, whose evidently deep waters rushed impetuously 
along their unobstructed channel. The bank at the spot 
where he reached it was a sheer precipice of between thirty 
and forty feet high. Glancing up and down the river he 
retreated a few paces, turned round a shook his clinched 
fist at the savages, accompanying the action with a shout 
of defiance, and then running to the edge of the bank, sprang 
far out into the boiling fiood and sank. 

The Indians pulled up on reaching the spot. There was 
no possibility of galloping down the wood-encumbered 
banks after the fugitive ; but quick as thought each Red- 
man leaped to the ground, and fitting an arrow to his bow, 
awaited Dick’s reappearance with eager gaze. 

Young though he was, and unskilled in such wild war- 
fare, Dick knew well enough what sort of reception he would 
meet with on coming to the surface, so he kept under 
water as long as he could, and struck out as vigorously as 
the care of his rifle would permit. At last he rose for a 
few seconds, and immediately half a dozen arrows whizzed 
through the air ; but most of them fell short — only one 
passed close to his cheek, and went with a “ whip ” into 
the river. He immediately sank again, and the next 
time he rose to breathe he was far beyond the reach of his 
Indian enemies. 


CHAPTER XllB. 


Alone. 

D ick VARLEY had spent so much of his boyhood in 
sporting about among the waters of the rivers and 
lakes near which he had been reared, and especially 
during the last two years had spent so much of his leisure 
time in rolling and diving with his dog Crusoe in the lake of 
the Mustang Valley, that he had become almost as expert 
in the water as a South Sea Islander ; so that when he 
found himself whirling down the rapid river, as already 
described, he was more impressed with a feeling of gratitude 
to God for his escape from the Indians than anxiety about 
getting ashore. 

He was not altogether blind or indifferent to the danger 
into which he might be hurled if the channel of the river 
should be found lower down to be broken with rocks, or 
should a waterfall unexpectedly appear. After floating 
down a sufficient distance to render pursuit out of the 
question, he struck into the bank opposite to that from 
which he had plunged, and clambering up to the greensward 
above, stripped off the greater part of his clothing and hung 
it on the branches of a bush to dry. Then he sat down 


156 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


on the trunk of a fallen tree to consider what course he had 
best pursue in his present circumstances. 

These circumstances were by no means calculated to in- 
spire him with hope or comfort. He was in the midst of an 
unknown wilderness, hundreds of miles from any white 
man’s settlement ; surrounded by savages ; without food 
or blanket ; his companions gone, he knew not whither — 
perhaps taken and killed by the Indians ; his horse dead ; 
and his dog, the most trusty and loving of all his friends, 
lost to him, probably for ever ! A more veteran heart 
might have quailed in the midst of such accumulated evils ; 
but Dick Varley possessed a strong, young, and buoyant 
constitution, which, united with a hopefulness of disposition 
that almost nothing could overcome, enabled him very 
quickly to cast aside the gloomy view of his case and turn 
to its brighter aspects. 

He still grasped his good rifle — that was some comfort ; 
and as his eye fell upon it, he turned with anxiety to 
examine into the condition of his powder-horn and the 
few things that he had been fortunate enough to carry 
away with him about his person. 

The horn in which western hunters carry their powder is 
usually that of an ox. It is closed up at the large end with 
a piece of hard wood fitted tightly into it, and the small 
end is closed with a wooden peg or stopper. It is therefore 
completely water-tight, and may be for hours immersed 
without the powder getting wet, unless the stopper should 
chance to be knocked out. Dick found, to his greav 
satisfaction, that the stopper was fast and the powder 
perfectly dry. Moreover, he had by good fortune filled 
it full two days before from the package that contained 
the general stock of ammunition, so that there were only 
two or three charges out of it. His percussion caps, 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


157 


liowever, were completely destroyed ; and even though 
they had not been, it would have mattered little, for he 
did not possess more than half a dozen. But this was not 
so great a misfortune as at first it might seem, for he had 
the spare flint locks and the little screwdriver necessary for 
fixing and unfixing them stowed away in his shot pouch. 

To examine his supply of bullets was his next care, and 
slowly he counted them out, one by one, to the number of 
thirty. This was a pretty fair supply, and with careful 
economy would last him many days. Having relieved his 
mind on these all-important points, he carefully examined 
every pouch and corner of his dress to ascertain the exact 
amount and value of his wealth. 

Besides the leather leggings, moccasins, deerskin hunting- 
shirt, cap, and belt which composed his costume, he had a 
short heavy hunting-knife, a piece of tinder, a little tin 
pannikin, which he had been in the habit of carrying at his 
belt, and a large cake of maple sugar. This last is a species 
of sugar which is procured by the Indians from the maple- 
tree. Several cakes of it had been carried off from the 
Pawnee village, and Dick usually carried one in the breast 
of his coat. Besides these things, he found that the little 
Bible, for which his mother had made a small inside breast- 
pocket, was safe. Dick’s heart smote him when he took 
it out and undid the clasp, for he had not looked at it until 
that day. It was firmly bound with a brass clasp, so that, 
although the binding and the edges of the leaves were 
soaked, the inside was quite dry. On opening the book to 
see if it had been damaged, a small paper fell out. Picking 
it up quickly, he unfolded it, and read, in his mother’s 
handwriting : “ Gall upon me in the time of trouble ; and 
1 will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify me. My son, give 
me thine heart. 


158 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


Dick’s eyes filled with tears while the sound, as it were, of 
his mother’s voice thus reached him unexpectedly in that 
lonely wilderness. Like too many whose hearts are young 
and gay, Dick had regarded religion, if not as a gloomy, at 
least as not a cheerful thing. But he felt the comfort of 
these words at that moment, and he resolved seriously to 
peruse his mother’s parting gift in time to come. 

The sun was hot, and a warm breeze gently shook the 
leaves, so that Dick’s garments were soon dry, A few 
minutes served to change the locks of his rifie, draw the wet 
charges, dry out the barrels, and reload. Then throwing it 
across his shoulder, he entered the wood and walked lightly 
away. And well he might, poor fellow, for at that moment 
he felt light enough in person if not in heart. His worldly 
goods were not such as to oppress him ; but the little note 
had turned his thought towards home, and he felt com- 
forted. 

Traversing the belt of woodland that marked the course of 
the river, Dick soon emerged on the wide prairie beyond, 
and here he paused in some uncertainty as to how he should 
proceed. 

He was too good a backwoodsman, albeit so young, to 
feel perplexed as to the points of the compass. He knew 
pretty well what hour it was, so that the sun showed him 
the general bearings of the country, and he knew that when 
night came he could correct his course by the pole star. 
Dick’s knowledge of astronomy was limited ; he knew 
only one star by name, but that one was an inestimable 
treasure of knowledge. His perplexity was owing to his 
uncertainty as to the direction in which his companions 
and their pursuers had gone ; for he had made up his mind 
to follow their trail if possible, and render all the succour 
his single arm might afford. To desert them, and make 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 159 

for the settlement, he held, would be a faithless and 
cowardly act. 

While they were together Joe Blunt had often talked to 
him about the route he meant to pursue to the Rocky 
Mountains ; so that, if they had escaped the Indians, he 
thought there might be some chance of finding them at 
last. But, to set against this, there was the probability 
that they had been taken and carried away in a totally 
different direction ; or they might have taken to the river, 
as he had done, and gone farther down without his ob- 
serving them. Then, again, if they had escaped, they 
would be sure to return and search the country round for 
him, so that if he left the spot he might miss them. 

“ Oh for my dear pup Crusoe ! ” he exclaimed aloud in 
this dilemma ; but the faithful ear was shut now, and the 
deep silence that followed his cry was so oppressive that the 
young hunter sprang forward at a run over the plain, as if 
to fly from solitude. He soon became so absorbed, how- 
ever, in his efforts to find the trail of his companions, that 
he forgot all other considerations, and ran straight forward 
for hours together with his eyes eagerly fixed on the ground. 
At last he felt so hungry, having tasted no food since supper- 
time the previous evening, that he halted for the purpose 
of eating a morsel of maple sugar. A line of bushes in the 
distance indicated water, so he sped on again, and was soon 
seated beneath a willow, drinking water from the cool 
stream. No game was to be found here, but there were 
several kinds of berries, among which wild grapes and 
plums grew in abundance. With these and some sugar 
he made a meal, though not a good one, for the berries 
were quite green and intensely sour. 

All that day Dick Varley followed up the trail of his com- 
panions, which he discovered at a ford in the river. They 


160 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


had crossed, therefore, in safety, though still pursued ; 
so he ran on at a regular trot, and with a little more hope 
than he had felt during the day. Towards night, however, 
Dick’s heart sank again, for he came upon innumerable 
buffalo tracts, among which those of the horses soon became 
mingled up, so that he lost them altogether. Hoping to 
find them again more easily by broad daylight, he went to 
the nearest clump of willows he could find, and encamped 
for the night. 

Remembering the use formerly made of the tall willows, 
he set to work to construct a covering to protect him from 
the dew. As he had no blanket or buffalo skin, he used 
leaves and grass instead, and found it a better shelter than 
he had expected, especially when the fire was lighted, and a 
pannikin of hot sugar and water smoked at his feet ; but 
as no game was to be found, he was again compelled to sup 
off unripe berries. Before lying down to rest he remem- 
bered his resolution, and pulling out the little Bible, read 
a portion of it by the fitful blaze of the fire, and felt great 
comfort in its blessed words. It seemed to him like a 
friend with whom he could converse in the midst of his 
loneliness. 

The plunge into the river having broken Dick’s pipe and 
destroyed his tobacco, he now felt the want of that luxury 
very severely ; and, never having wanted it before, he was 
greatly surprised to find how much he had become enslaved 
to the habit. It cost him more than an hour’s rest that 
night, the craving for his wonted pipe. 

The sagacious reader will doubtless not fail here to ask 
himself the question, whether it is wise in man to create in 
himself an unnatural and totally unnecessary appetite, 
which may, and often does, entail hours — ay, sometimes 
months — of exceeding discomfort ; but we would not for a 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


161 


moment presume to suggest such a question to him. We 
have a distinct objection to the ordinary method of what 
is called “ drawing a moral.” It is much better to leave 
wise men to do this for themselves. 

Next morning Dick rose with the sun, and started without 
breakfast, preferring to take his chance of finding a bird or 
animal of some kind before long to feeding again on sour 
berries. He was disappointed, however, in finding the 
tracks of his companions. The ground here was hard and 
sandy, so that little or no impression of a distinct kind was 
made on it ; and as buffaloes had traversed it in all di- 
rections, he was soon utterly bewildered. He thought it 
possible that, by running out for several miles in a straight 
line, and then taking a wide circuit round, he might find 
the tracks emerging from the confusion made by the 
buffaloes. But he was again disappointed, for the buffalo 
tracts still continued, and the ground became less capable 
of showing a footprint. 

Soon Dick began to feel so ill and weak from eating such 
poor fare that he gave up all hope of discovering the tracks, 
and was compelled to push forward at his utmost speed in 
order to reach a less barren district, where he might 
procure fresh meat ; but the farther he advanced the worse 
and more sandy did the district become. For several days 
he pushed on over this arid waste without seeing bird or 
beast, and, to add to his misery, he failed at last to find 
water. For a day and a night he wandered about in a 
burning fever, and his throat so parched that he wae almost 
suffocated. Towards the close of the second day he saw 
a slight line of bushes away down in a hollow on his right. 
With eager steps he staggered towards them, and, on 
drawing near, beheld — blessed sight ! — a stream of water 
glancing in the beams of the setting sun. 

11 


162 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


Dick tried to shout for joy, but his parched throat 
refused to give utterance to the voice. It mattered not. 
Exerting all his remaining strength he rushed down the 
bank, dropped his rifle, and plunged head-foremost into 
the stream. 

The first mouthful sent a thrill of horror to his heart ; it 
was salt as brine ! 

The poor youth’s cup of bitterness was now full to over- 
flowing. Crawling out of the stream, he sank down on the 
bank in a species of lethargic torpor, from which he 
awakened next morning in a raging fever. Delirium soon 
rendered him insensible to his sufferings. The sun rose 
like a ball of fire, and shone down with scorching power on 
the arid plain. What mattered it to Dick ? He was far 
away in the shady groves of the Mustang Valley, chasing the 
deer at times, but more frequently cooling his limbs and 
sporting with Crusoe in the bright blue lake. Now he 
was in his mother’s cottage, telling her how he had thought 
of her when far away on the prairie, and what a bright, 
sweet word it was she had whispered in his ear — so un- 
expectedly, too. Anon he was scouring over the plains 
on horseback, with the savages at his heels ; and at such 
times Dick would spring with almost supernatural strength 
from the ground, and run madly over the burning plain ; 
but, as if by a species of fascination, he always returned 
to the salt river, and sank exhausted by its side, or plunged 
helplessly into, its waters. 

These sudden immersions usually restored him for a 
short time to reason, and he would crawl up the bank and 
gnaw a morsel of the maple sugar ; but he could not eat 
much, for it was in a tough, compact cake, which his jaws 
had not power to break. All that day and the next night 
he lay on the banks of the salt stream, or rushed wildly 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


163 


over the plain. It was about noon of the second day after 
his attack that he crept slowly out of the water, into which 
he had plunged a few seconds before. His mind was 
restored, but he felt an indescribable sensation of weakness, 
that seemed to him to be the approach of death. Creeping 
towards the place where his rifle lay, he fell exhausted 
beside it, and laid his cheek on the Bible, which had fallen 
out of his pocket there. 

While his eyes were closed in a dreamy sort of half- 
waking slumber, he felt the rough, hairy coat of an animal 
brush against his forehead. The idea of being torn to 
pieces by wolves flashed instantly across his mind, and with 
a shriek of terror he sprang up, to be almost overwhelmed 
by the caresses of his faithful dog. 

Yes, there he was, bounding round his master, barking 
and whining, and giving vent to every possible expression of 
canine joy. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

Crusoe’s Return. 

T he means by which Crusoe managed to escape from 
his two-legged captors, and rejoin his master, 
require separate and special notice. 

In the struggle with the fallen horse and Indian, which 
Dick had seen begun but not concluded, he was almost 
crushed to death ; and the instant the Indian gained his 
feet he sent an arrow at his head with savage violence. 
Crusoe, however, had been so well used to dodging the 
blunt-headed arrows that were wont to be shot at him by 
the boys of the Mustang Valley, that he was quite prepared 
and eluded the shaft by an active bound. Moreover, he 
uttered one of his own peculiar roars, flew at the Indian’s 
throat, and dragged him down. At the same moment the 
other Indians came up, and one of them turned aside to the 
rescue. This man happened to have an old gun, of the 
cheap sort at that time exchanged for peltries by the fur- 
traders. With the butt of this he struck Crusoe a blow 
on the head that sent him sprawling on the grass. 


THE BOG CRUSOE, 


165 


The rest of the savages, as we have seen, continued in 
pursuit of Dick until he leaped into the river ; then they 
returned, took the saddle and bridle off his dead horse, and 
rejoined their comrades. Here they held a court-martial 
on Crusoe, who was now bound foot and muzzle with cords. 
Some were for killing him ; others, who admired his noble 
appearance, immense size, and courage, thought it would be 
wdl to carry him to their village and keep him. There was 
a pretty violent dispute on the subject, but at length it was 
agreed that they should spare his life in the meantime, and 
perhaps have a dog-dance round him when they got to 
their wigwams. 

This dance, of which Crusoe was to be the chief though 
passive performer, is peculiar to some of the tribes east of 
the Rocky Mountains, and consists in killing a dog and 
cutting out its liver, which is afterwards sliced into shreds 
or strings and hung on a pole, about the height of a man’s 
head. A band of warriors then come and dance wildly 
round this pole, and each one in succession goes up to the 
raw liver and bites a piece off it, without, however, putting 
his hands near it. Such is the dog-dance, and to such 
was poor Crusoe destined by his fierce captors, especially 
by the one whose throat still bore very evident marks of 
his teeth. 

But Crusoe was much too clever a dog to be disposed of in 
so disgusting a manner. He had privately resolved in his 
own mind that he would escape ; but the hopelessness of 
his ever carrying that resolution into effect would have 
been apparent to any one who could have seen the way in 
which his muzzle was secured, and his four paws were 
tied together in a bunch, as he hung suspended across the 
saddle of one of the savages. 

This particular party of Indians who had followed Dick 


166 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


Varley determined not to wait for the return of their com- 
rades who were in pursuit of the other two hunters, but to 
go straight home ; so for several days they galloped away 
over the prairie. At nights, when they encamped, Crusoe 
was thrown on the ground like a piece of old lumber, and 
left to lie there with a mere scrap of food till morning, when 
he was again thrown across the horse of his captor and 
carried on. When the village was reached he was thrown 
again on the ground, and would certainly have been torn 
to pieces in five minutes by the Indian curs which came 
howling round him, had not an old woman come to the 
rescue and driven them away. With the help of her 
grandson — a little naked creature, just able to walk, or 
rather to stagger — she dragged him to her tent, and, 
undoing the line that fastened his mouth, offered him a 
bone. 

Although lying in a position that was unfavourable for 
eating purposes, Crusoe opened his jaws and took it. An 
awful crash followed by two crunches — and it was gone ; 
and Crusoe looked up in the old squaw’s face with a look 
that said plainly, “ Another of the same, please, and as 
quick as possible.” The old woman gave him another, and 
then a lump of meat, which latter went down with a gulp ; 
but he coughed after it, and it was well he didn’t choke. 
After this the squaw left him, and Crusoe spent the re- 
mainder of that night gnawing the cords that bound him. 
So diligent was he that he was free before morning, and 
walked deliberately out of the tent. Then he shook 
himself, and with a yell that one might have fancied was 
intended for defiance he bounded joyfully away, and was 
soon out of sight. 

To a dog with a good appetite which had been on short 
allowance for several days, the mouthful given to him by 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


167 


the old squaw was a mere nothing. All that day he kept 
bounding over the plain from bluff to bluff in search of 
something to eat, but found nothing until dusk, when he 
pounced suddenly and most unexpectedly on a prairie-hen 
fast asleep. In one moment its life was gone. In less 
than a minute its body was gone too — feathers and bones 
and all — down Crusoe’s ravenous throat. 

On the identical spot Crusoe lay down and slept like a top 
for four hours. At the end of that time he jumped up, 
bolted a scrap of skin that somehow had been overlooked at 
supper, and flew straight over the prairie to the spot where 
he had had the scuffle with the Indian. He came to the 
edge of the river, took precisely the same leap that his 
master had done before him, and came out on the other 
side a good deal higher up than Dick had done, for the 
dog had no savages to dodge, and was, as we have said 
before, a powerful swimmer. 

It cost him a good deal of running about to find the trail , 
and it was nearly dark before he resumed his journey ; then 
putting his keen nose to the ground, he ran step by step 
over Dick’s track, and at last found him, as we have 
shown, on the banks of the salt creek. 

It is quite impossible to describe the intense joy which 
filled Dick’s heart on again beholding his favourite. Only 
those who have lost, and found such an one can know it. 
Dick seized him round the neck and hugged him as well as 
he could, poor fellow, in his feeble arms ; then he wept, 
then he laughed, and then he fainted. 

This was a consummation that took Crusoe quite aback. 
Never having seen his master in such a state before he 
seemed to think at first that he was playing some trick, 
for he bounded round him, and barked, and wagged his 
tail. But as Dick lay quite still and motionless, he went 


168 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


forward with a look of alarm, snuffed him once or twice, 
and whined piteously ; then he raised his nose in the air 
and uttered a long melancholy wail. 

The cry seemed to revive Dick, for he moved, and with 
some difficulty sat up, to the dog’s evident relief. There 
is no doubt whatever that Crusoe learned an erroneous 
lesson that day, and was firmly convinced thenceforth 
that the best cure for a fainting fit is a melancholy yell. 
So easy is it for the wisest of dogs as well as men to fall 
into gross error ! 

“ Crusoe,” said Dick, in a feeble voice, “ dear good pup, 
come here.” He crawled, as he spoke, down to the water’s 
edge, where there was a level patch of dry sand. 

“ Dig,” said Dick, pointing to the sand. 

Crusoe looked at him in surprise, as well he might, for he 
had never heard the word “ dig ” in all his life before. 

Dick pondered a minutes ; then a thought struck him. 
He turned up a little of the sand with his fingers, and point- 
ing to the hole cried, “ Seek him out^ 'pnp / ” 

Ha ! Crusoe understood that. Many and many a time 
had he unhoused rabbits, and squirrels, and other creatures 
at that word of command ; so, without a moment’s delay, 
he commenced to dig down into the sand, every now and 
then stopping for a moment and shoving in his nose, and 
snuffing interrogatively, as if he fully expected to find a 
buffalo at the bottom of it. Then he would resume again, 
one paw after another, so fast that you could scarce see 
them going — “ hand over hand,” as sailors would have 
called it — while the sand fiew out between his hind legs 
in a continuous shower. When the sand accumulated so 
much behind him as to impede his motions he scraped it 
out of his way, and set to work again with tenfold earnest- 
ness. After a good while he paused and looked up at 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


169 


Dick with an “ it-won’t-do ;-I-fear-there’s-nothing-here ” 
expression on his face. 

“ Seek him out, pup ! repeated Dick. 

“ Oh ! very good,” mutely answered the dog, and went 
at it again, tooth and nail, harder than ever. 

In the course of a quarter of an hour there was a deep 
yawning hole in the sand, into which Dick peered with 
intense anxiety. The bottom appeared slightly damp. 
Hope now reanimated Dick Varley, and by various devices 
he succeeded in getting the dog to scrape away a sort of 
tunnel from the hole, into which he might roll himself 
and put down his lips to drink when the water should rise 
high enough. Impatiently and anxiously he lay watching 
the moisture slowly accumulate in the bottom of the hole, 
drop by drop ; and while he gazed he fell into a troubled, 
restless slumber, and dreamed that Crusoe’s return was a 
dream, and that he was alone again, perishing for want of 
water. 

When he awakened the hole was half full of clear water, 
and Crusoe was lapping it greedily. 

“ Back, pup ! ” he shouted, as he crept down to the hole 
and put his trembling lips to the water. It was brackish, 
but drinkable, and as Dick drank deeply of it he esteemed 
it at that moment better than nectar. Here he lay for 
half an hour, alternately drinking and gazing in surprise 
at his own emaciated visage as reflected in the 
pool. 

The same afternoon Crusoe, in a private hunting excur- 
sion of his own, discovered and caught a prairie-hen, which 
he quietly proceeded to devour on the spot, when Dick, 
who saw what had occurred, whistled to him. 

Obedience was engrained in every fibre of Crusoe’s 
mental and corporeal being. He did not merely answer 


170 THE DOG CRUSOE. 

at once to the call — he sprang to it, leaving the prairie- 
hen untasted. 

“ Fetch it, pup,” cried Dick eagerly as the dog came up. 

In a few moments the hen was at his feet. Dick’s 
circumstances could not brook the delay of cookery ; he 
gashed the bird with his knife and drank the blood, and 
then gave the flesh to the dog, while he crept to the pool 
again for another draught. Ah ! think not, reader, that 
although we have treated this subject in a slight vein of 
pleasantry, because it ended well, that therefore our tale 
is pure fiction. Not only are Indians glad to satisfy the 
urgent cravings of hunger with raw flesh, but many 
civilized and delicately nurtured men have done the same 
— ay, and doubtless will do the same again, as long as 
^terprising and fearless men shall go forth to dare the 
dangers of flood and field in the wild places of our wonderful 
world. 

Crusoe had finished his share of the feast before Dick 
returned from the pool. Then master and dog lay down 
together side by side and fell into a long, deep, peaceful 
slumber. 


CHAPTER XV. 

Dick “ Bags ” a Buffalo. 

D ick VARLEY’S fears and troubles, in the mean- 
time, were ended. On the day following he awoke 
refreshed and happy — so happy and light at heart, 
as he felt the glow of returning health coursing through 
his veins, that he fancied he must have dreamed it all. 
In fact, he was so certain that his muscles were strong that 
he endeavoured to leap up, but was powerfully convinced 
of his true condition by the miserable stagger that resulted 
from the effort. 

However, he knew he was recovering, so he rose, and 
thanking God for his recovery, and for the new hope that 
was raised in his heart, he went down to the pool and drank 
deeply of its water. Then he returned, and, sitting down 
beside his dog, opened the Bible and read long — and, for 
the first time, earnestly — the story of Christ’s love for 
sinful man. He at last fell asleep over the book, and when 
he awakened felt so much refreshed in body and mind that 
he determined to attempt to pursue his journey. 

He had not proceeded far when he came upon a colony 
of prairie-dogs. Upon this occasion he was little inclined to 


172 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


take a humorous view of the vagaries of these curious little 
creatures, but he shot one, and, as before, ate part of it 
raw. These creatures are so active that they are difficult 
to shoot, and even when killed generally fall into their 
holes and disappear. Crusoe, however soon unearthed 
the dead animal on this occasion. That night the travellers 
came to a stream of fresh water, and Dick killed a turkey, 
so that he determined to spend a couple of days there to 
recruit. At the end of that time he again set out, but 
was able only to advance five miles when he broke down. 
In fact, it became evident to him that he must have a 
longer period of absolute repose ere he could hope to con- 
tinue his journey ; but to do so without food was impossible. 
Fortunately there was plenty of water, as his course lay 
along the margin of a small stream ; and, as the arid piece 
of prairie was now behind him, he hoped to fall in with 
birds, or perhaps deer, soon. 

While he was plodding heavily and wearily along, ponder- 
ing these things, he came to the brow of a wave from which 
he beheld a most magnificent view of green grassy plains 
decked with flowers, and rolling out to the horizon, with a 
stream meandering through it, and clumps of trees scattered 
everywhere far and wide. It was a glorious sight ; but 
the most glorious object in it to Dick, at that time, was a 
fat buffalo which stood grazing not a hundred yards off. 
The wind was blowing towards him, so that the animal 
did not scent him ; and, as he came up very slowly, and 
it was turned away, it did not see him. 

Crusoe would have sprung forward in an instant, but 
his master’s finger imposed silence and caution. Trembling 
with eagerness, Dick sank flat down in the grass, cooked 
both barrels of his piece, and resting it on his left hand 
with his left elbow on the ground, he waited until the 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


173 


animal should present its side. In a few seconds it moved ; 
Dick’s eye glanced along the barrel, but it trembled— his 
wonted steadiness of aim was gone. He fired, and the 
buffalo sprang off in terror. With a groan of despair he 
fired again— almost recklessly— and the buffalo fell. It 
rose once or twice and stumbled forward a few paces, then 
it fell again. Meanwhile Dick reloaded with trembling 
hand, and advanced to give it other shot ; but it was not 
needful — the buffalo was already dead. 

“ Now, Crusoe,” said Dick, sitting down on the buffalo’s 
shoulder and patting his favourite on the head, “ we’re all 
right at last. You and I shall have a jolly time o’t, pup, 
from this time for’ard.” 

Dick paused for breath, and Crusoe wagged his tail and 
looked as if to say — ^pshaw ! “ as if ! ” 

We tell you what it is, reader : it’s of no use at all to go 
on writing “ as if,” when we tell you what Crusoe said. 
If there is any language in eyes whatever — if there is 
language in a tail, in a cocked ear, in a mobile eyebrow, 
in the point of a canine nose ; if there is language in any 
terrestrial thing at all, apart from that which flows from 
the tongue — then Crusoe s'poke. Do we not speak at this 
moment to you ? And if so, then tell me wherein lies 
a difference between a written letter and a given 
sign ? 

Yes, Crusoe spoke. He said to Dick as plain as dog 
could say it, slowly and emphatically, “ That’s my opinion 
precisely, Dick. You’re the dearest, most beloved, 
j oiliest fellow that ever walked on two legs, you are ; 
and whatever’s your opinion is mine, no matter how absurd 
it may be.” 

Dick evidently understood him perfectly, for he laughed 
looked at him and patted him on the head, and 


174 THE DOG CRUSOE. 

called him a “ funny dog.” Then he continued his 
discourse : — 

“ Yes, pup, we’ll make our camp her for a long bit, old 
dog, in this beautiful plain. We’ll make a willow wigwam 
to sleep in, you and I, jist in yon clump o’ trees, not a 
stone’s-throw to our right, where we’ll have a run o’ pure 
water beside us, and be near our buffalo at the same time. 
For, ye see, we’ll need to watch him lest the wolves take 
a notion to eat him. That’ll be your duty, pup. Then 
I’ll skin him when I get strong enough, which’ll be m a 
day or two, I hope, and we’ll put one-half of the skin below 
us and t’other half above us i’ the camp, an’ sleep, an’ 
eat, an’ take it easy for a week or two — won’t we, 
pup ? ” 

“ Hoora-a-a-y ! ” shouted Crusoe, with a jovial wag of 
his tail, that no human arm with hat, or cap, or kerchief 
ever equalled. 

Poor Dick Varley ! He smiled to think how earnestly 
he had been talking to the dog ; but he did not cease to 
do it, for although he entered into discourses the drift of 
which Crusoe’s limited education did not permit him to 
follow, he found comfort in hearing the sound of his own 
voice, and in knowing that it fell pleasantly on another 
ear in that lonely wilderness. 

Our hero now set about his preparations as vigorously as 
he could. He cut out the buffalo’s tongue — a matter of 
great difficulty to one in his weak state — and carried it 
to a pleasant spot near to the stream, where the turf was 
level and green, and decked with wild flowers. Here he 
resolved to make his camp. 

His first care was to select a bush whose branches were 
long enough to form a canopy over his head when bent 
and the ends thrust into the ground. The comp' 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


175 


of this exhausted him greatly, but after a rest he resumed 
his labours. The next thing was to light a fire — a comfort 
which he had not enjoyed for many weary days. Not 
that he required it for warmth, for the weather was ex- 
tremely warm, but he required it to cook with, and the 
mere sight of a blaze in a dark place is a most heart-cheer- 
ing thing, as every one knows. 

When the fire was lighted he filled his pannikin at the 
brook and put it on to boil, and cutting several slices of 
buffalo tongue, he thrust short stakes through them and 
set them up before the fire to roast. By this time the 
water was boiling, so he took it off with difficulty, nearly 
burning his fingers and singeing the tail of his coat in so 
doing. Into the pannikin he put a lump of maple sugar, 
and stirred it about with a stick, and tasted it. It seemed 
to him even better than tea or coffee. It was absolutely 
delicious. 

Really one has no notion what he can do if he makes 
believe very hard. The human mind is a nicely balanced 
and extremely complex machine, and when thrown a 
little off the balance can be made to believe almost any- 
thing, as we see in the case of some poor monomaniacs, 
who have fancied that they were made of all sorts of 
things — glass and porcelain, and such like. No wonder 
then that poor Dick Varley, after so much suffering and 
hardship, came to regard that pannikin of hot sirup as 
the most delicious beverage he ever drank. 

During all these operations Crusoe sat on his haunches 
beside him and looked. And you haven’t, no, you haven’t 
got the most distant notion of the way in which that dog 
manoeuvred with his head and face. He opened his eyes 
wide, and cocked his ears, and turned his head first a little 
to one side, then a little to the other. After that he 


176 


THE DOO CRUSOE. 


turned it a good deal to one side, and then a good deal more 
to the other. Then he brought it straight, and raised 
one eyebrow a little, and th^ the other a little, and then 
both together very much. Then, when Dick paused to 
rest and did nothing, Crusoe looked mild for a moment, 
and yawned vociferously. Presently Dick moved ; up 
went the ears again, and Crusoe came, in military parlance, 
“ to the position of attention.” At last supper was ready 
and they began, 

Dick had purposely kept the dog’s supper back from 
him, in order that they might eat it in company. And 
between every bite and sup that Dick took he gave a bite — 
but not a sup — to Crusoe. Thus lovingly they ate to- 
gether ; and when Dick lay that night under the willow 
branches, looking up through them at the stars, with his 
feet to tile fire and Crusoe close along his side, he thought 
it the best and sweetest supper he ever ate, and the happiest 
evening he ever spent — so wonderfully do circumstances 
modify our notions of felicity. 

Two weeks after this “ Richard was himself again.” 
The muscles were springy, and the blood coursed fast and 
free, as was its wont. Only a slight, and, perhaps, salutary 
feeling of weakness remained, to remind him that young 
muscles might again become more helpless than those of 
an aged man or a child. 

Dick had left his encampment a week ago, and was now 
advancing by rapid stages towards the Rocky Mountains, 
closely following the trail of his lost comrades, which he 
had no difficulty in finding and keeping now that Crusoe 
was with him. The skin of the bufialo that he had killed 
was now strapped to his shoulders, and the skin of another 
animal that he had shot a few days after was cut up into a 
long line and slung in a coil round his neck. Crusoe was 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 177 

also laden. He had a little bundle of meat slung on each 
side of him. 

For some time past numerous herds of mustangs, or wild 
horses, had crossed their path, and Dick was now on the 
look-out for a chance to crease one of those magnificent 
creatures. 

On one occasion a band of mustangs galloped close up to 
him before they were aware of his presence, and stopped 
short with a wild snort of surprise on beholding him ; then 
wheeling round, they dashed away at full gallop, their 
long tails and manes flying wildly in the air, and their 
hoofs thundering on the plain. Dick did not attempt to 
crease one upon this occasion, fearing that his recent illness 
might have rendered his hand too unsteady for so ex- 
tremely delicate an operation. 

In order to crease a wild horse the hunter requires to be a 
perfect shot, and it is not every man of the west who 
carries a rifle that can do it successfully. Creasing consists 
in sending a bullet through the gristle of the mustang’s 
neck, just above the bone, so as to stun the animal. If the 
ball enters a hair’s-breadth too low, the horse falls dead 
instantly. If it hits the exact spot, the horse falls as 
instantaneously, and dead to all appearance ; but, in 
reality, he is only stunned, and if left for a few minutes 
will rise and gallop away nearly as well as ever. When 
hunters crease a horse successfully they put a rope, or 
halter, round his under jaw and hobbles round his feet, 
so that when he rises he is secured, and, after considerable 
trouble, reduced to obedience. 

The mustangs which roam in wild freedom on the prairies 
of the far west are descended from the noble Spanish steeds 
that were brought over by the wealthy cavaliers who 
accompanied Fernando Cortez, the conqueror of Mexico, 
12 


178 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


in his expedition to the New World in 1518. These bold, 
and, we may add, lawless cavaliers were mounted on the 
finest horses that could be procured from Barbary and the 
deserts of the Old World. The poor Indians of the New 
World were struck with amazement and terror at these 
awful beings, for, never having seen horses before, they 
believed that horse and rider were one animal. During 
the wars that followed many of the Spaniards were killed, 
and their steeds bounded into the wilds of the new country, 
to enjoy a life of unrestrained freedom. These were the 
forefathers of the present race of magnificent creatures 
which are found in immense droves all over the western 
wilderness, from the Gulf of Mexico to the confines of the 
snowy regions of the far north. 

At first the Indians beheld these horses with awe and 
terror, but gradually they became accustomed to them, 
and finally succeeded in capturing great numbers and 
reducing them to a state of servitude. Not, however, 
to the service of the cultivated field, but to the service of 
the chase and war. The savages soon acquired the method 
of capturing wild horses by means of the lasso — as the long 
line of raw hide with a noose at the end is termed — which 
they adroitly threw over the heads of the animals and 
secured them, having previously run them down. At the 
present day many of the savage tribes of the west almost 
live upon horseback, and without these useful creatures 
they could scarcely subsist, as they are almost indis- 
pensable in the chase of the buffalo. 

Mustangs are regularly taken by the Indians to the 
settlements of the white men for trade, but very poor 
specimens are these of the breed of wild horses. This 
arises from two causes. First, the Indian cannot overtake 
the finest of a drove of wild mustangs, because his own 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


179 


steed is inferior to the best among the wild ones, besides 
being weighted with a rider, so that only the weak and 
inferior animals are captured. And, secondly, when the 
Indian does succeed in lassoing a first-rate horse he keeps 
it for his own use. Thus, those who have not visited the 
far-off prairies and seen the mustang in all the glory of 
untrammelled freedom, can form no adequate idea of its 
beauty, fieetness, and strength. 

The horse, however, was not the only creature imported 
by Cortez. There were priests in his army who rode upon 
asses, and although we cannot imagine that the “ fathers ” 
charged with the cavaliers and were unhorsed, or, rather, 
unassed in battle, yet, somehow, the asses got rid of their 
riders and joined the Spanish chargers in their joyous 
bound into a new life of freedom. Hence wild asses also 
are found in the western prairies. But think not, reader, 
of those poor miserable wretches we see at home, which 
seem little better than rough door-mats sewed upland 
stuffed, with head, tail, and legs attached, and just enough 
of life infused to make them move ! No, the wild ass of 
the prairie is a large, powerful, swift creature. He has 
the same long ears, it is true, and the same hideous, 
exasperating bray, and the same tendency to flourish his 
heel& ; but for all that he is a very fine animal, and often 
wages successful warfare with the wild horse. 

But to return. The next drove of mustangs that Dick 
and Crusoe saw were feeding quietly and unsuspectingly 
in a rich green hollow in the plain. Dick’s heart leaped 
up as his eyes suddenly fell on them, for he had almost 
discovered himself before he was aware of their presence. 

“ Down, pup ! ” he whispered, as he sank and disap- 
peared among the grass, which was just long enough to 
cover him when lying quite flat. 


180 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


Crusoe crouched immediately^ and his master maae his 
observations of the drove, and the dispositions of the 
ground that might favour his approach, for they were not 
within rifle range. Having done so he crept slowly back 
until the undulation of the prairie hid him from view ; 
then he sprang to his feet, and ran a considerable distance 
along the bottom until he gained the extreme end of a 
belt of low bushes, which would effectually conceal him 
while he approached to within a hundred yards or less 
of the troop. 

Here he made his arrangements. Throwing down his 
buffalo robe, he took the coil of line and cut off a piece of 
about three yards in length. On this he made a running 
noose. The longer line he also prepared with a running 
noose. These he threw in a coil over his arm. 

He also made a pair of hobbles, and placed them in the 
breast of his coat, and then, taking up his rifle, advanced 
cautiously through the bushes, Crusoe following close be- 
hind him. In a few minutes he was gazing in admiration 
at the mustangs, which were now within easy shot, and 
utterly ignorant of the presence of man, for Dick had taken 
care to approach in such a way that the wind did not carry 
the scent of him in their direction. 

And well might he admire them. The wild horse of 
these regions is not very large, but it is exceedingly power- 
ful, with prominent eye, sharp nose, distended nostril, 
small feet, and a delicate leg. Their beautiful manes 
hung at great length down their arched necks, and their 
thick tails swept the ground. One magnificent fellow^ 
in particular attracted Dick’s attention. He was of a 
rick dark-brown colour, with black mane and tail, and 
seemed to be the leader of the drove. 

Although not the nearest to him, he resolved to crease 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


181 


this horse. It is said that creasing generally destroys or 
damages the spirit of the horse, so Dick determined to try 
whether his powers of close shooting would not serve him 
on this occasion. Going down on one knee he aimed at 
the creature’s neck, just a hair’s-breadth above the spot 
where he had been told that hunters usually hit them, and 
fired. The effect upon the group was absolutely tre- 
mendous. With wild cries and snorting terror they tossed 
their proud heads in the air, uncertain for one moment 
in which direction to fly ; then there was a rush as if a 
hurricane swept over the place, and they were gone. 

But the brown horse was down. Dick did not wait 
until the others had fled. He dropped his rifle, and with 
the speed of a deer sprang towards the fallen horse, and 
affixed the hobbles to his legs. His aim had been true. 
Although scarcely half a minute elapsed between the shot 
and the fixing of the hobbles, the animal recovered, and 
with a frantic exertion rose on his haunches, just as Dick 
had fastened the noose of the short line in his under jaw. 
But this was not enough. If the horse had gained his feet 
before the longer line was placed round his neck, he would 
have escaped. As the mustang made the second violent 
plunge that placed it on its legs, Dick flung the noose 
hastily ; it caught on one ear, and would have fallen off, 
had not the horse suddenly shaken its head, and unwit- 
tingly sealed its own fate by bringing the noose round 
its neck. 

And now the struggle began. Dick knew well enough, 
from hearsay, the method of “ breaking down ” a wild 
horse. He knew that the Indians choke them with the 
noose round the neck until they fall down exhausted and 
covered with foam, when they creep up, fix the hobbles, 
and the line in the lower jaw, and then loosen the lasso 


182 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


to let the horse breathe, and resume its pluiigings till 
it is almost subdued, when they gradually draw near and 
breathe into its nostrils. But the violence and strength 
of this animal rendered this an apparently hopeless task. 
We have already seen that the hobbles and noose in the 
lower jaw had been fixed, so that Dick had nothing now 
to do but to choke his captive, and tire him out, while Crusoe 
remained a quiet though excited spectator of the scene. 

But there seemed to be no possibility of choking this 
horse. Either the muscles of his neck were too strong, 
or there was something wrong with the noose which pre- 
vented it from acting, for the furious creature dashed and 
bounded backwards and sideways in its terror for nearly 
an hour, dragging Dick after it, till he was almost ex- 
hausted ; and yet, at the end of that time, although fiecked 
with foam and panting with terror, it seemed as strong 
as ever. Dick held both lines, for the short one attached 
to its lower jaw gave him great power over it. At last 
he thought of seeking assistance from his dog. 

“ Crusoe,” he cried, “ lay hold, pup ! ” 

The dog seized the long line in his teeth and pulled with 
all his might. At the same moment Dick let go the short 
line and threw all his weight upon the long one. The 
noose tightened suddenly under this strain, and the 
mustang, with a gasp, fell choking to the ground. 

Dick had often heard of the manner in which the 
Mexicans “ break ” their horses, so he determined to aban- 
don the method which had already almost worn him out, 
and adopt the other, as far as the means in his power 
rendered it possible. Instead, therefore, of loosening the 
lasso and recommencing the struggle, he tore a branch from 
a neighbouring bush, cut the hobbles, strode with his 
legs across the fallen steed, seized the end of the short 



IT REARED, PLUNGED, SHRIEKED, VAULTED INTO THE AIR, STOOD 
STRAIGHT UP ON ITS HIND LEGS, AND THEN ALMOST AS STRAIGHT 
UPON ITS FORE ONES ; BUT ITS RIDER HELD ON LIKE A BURR. 


I 




V 4 



f 


-V 


y • 

a' 

i 




9 






I 


# 



4 


* 




% 



% 


% 


% 





% 


( 




I 


% 

\ 

\ 

r 

« 


\ 


>. 


*w 








r 


I 

> 


» 








t. 



4 



•s 


'ft 








I 



✓ 






a 





• « 


« 


» 


# 


✓ 



•*r 



V 


1 




«■ 


r 


’ ' / 

i| 




( 


!• 




k • < 




I 


♦ T 


I 


# 


• P 
i • 


9 


^ ♦ 
% 




4 


I 


I 




THE DOG CRUSOE. 


183 


line or bridle, and then, ordering Crusoe to quit his hold, 
he loosened the noose which compressed the horse’s neck 
and had already well-nigh terminated its existence. 

One or two deep sobs restored it, and in a moment it 
leaped to its feet with Dick firmly on its back. To say 
that the animal leaped and kicked in its frantic efforts to 
throw this intolerable burden would be a tame manner of 
expressiug what took place. Words cannot adequately 
describe the scene. It reared, plunged, shrieked, vaulted 
mto the air, stood straight up on its hind legs, and then 
almost as straight upon its fore ones ; but its rider held 
on like a burr. Then the mustang raced wildly forwards 
a few paces, then as wildly back, and then stood still and 
trembled violently. But this was only a brief lull in the 
storm, so Dick saw that the time was now come to assert the 
superiority of his race. 

“ Stay back, Crusoe, and watch my rifle, pup,” he cried, 
and raising his heavy switch he brought it down with a 
sharp cut across the horse’s flank, at the same time loosen- 
ing the rein which hitherto he had held tight. 

The wild horse uttered a passionate cry, and sprang 
forward like the bolt from a cross-bow. 

And now commenced a race which, if not so prolonged, 
was at least as furious as that of the far-famed Mazeppa. 
Dick was a splendid rider, however — at least as far as 
“ sticking on ” goes. He might not have come up to the 
precise pitch desiderated by a riding-master in regard to 
carriage, etc., but he rode that wild horse of the prairie with 
as much ease as he had formerly ridden his own good steed, 
whose bones had been picked by the wolves not long ago. 

The pace was tremendous, for the youth’s weight was 
nothing to that muscular frame, which bounded with cat- 
like agility from wave to wave of the undulating plain in 


184 


THE DOG CRUSOE 


ungovernable terror. In a few minutes the clump of 
willows where Crusoe and his rifle lay was out of sight 
behind ; but it mattered not, for Dick had looked up at 
the sky and noted the position of the sun at the moment 
of starting. Away they went on the wings of the wind, 
mile after mile over the ocean-like waste, curving slightly 
aside now and then to avoid the bluffs that occasionally 
appeared on the scene for a few minutes and then swept 
out of sight behind them. Then they came to a little 
rivulet. It was a mere brook of a few feet wide, and two 
or three yards, perhaps, from bank to bank. Over this 
they flew so easily that the spring was scarcely felt, and 
continued the headlong course. And now a more barren 
country was around them; Sandy ridges and scrubby grass 
appeared everywhere reminding Dick of the place where he 
had been so ill. Rocks, too, were scattered about, and at 
one place the horse dashed with clattering hoofs between a 
couple of rocky sand-hills, which, for a few seconds, hid 
the prairie from view. Here the mustang suddenly shied 
with such violence that his rider was nearly thrown, while 
a rattlesnake darted from the path. Soon they emerged 
from this pass, and again the plains became green and 
verdant. Presently a distant line of trees showed that 
they were approaching water, and in a few minutes they 
were close on it. For the first time Dick felt alarm. 
He sought to check his steed, but no force he could exert 
had the smallest influence on it. 

Trees and bushes flew past in bewildering confusion. 
The river was before him ; what width, he could not tell, 
but he was reckless now, like his charger, which he struck 
with the willow rod with all his force as they came up 
One tremendous bound, and they were across, but Dick had 
to lie flat on the mustang’s back as it crashed through the 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


185 


bushes to avoid being scraped off by the trees. Again 
they were on the open plain, and the wild horse began to 
show signs of exhaustion. 

Now was its rider’s opportunity to assert his dominion. 
He plied the willow rod and urged the panting horse on, 
until it was white with foam and laboured a little in its 
gait. Then Dick gently drew the halter, and it broke into 
a trot ; still tighter, and it walked, and in another minute 
stood still, trembling in every limb. Dick now quietly 
rubbed its neck, and spoke to it in soothing tones ; then 
he wheeled it gently round, and urged it forward. It was 
quite subdued and docile. In a little time they came to 
the river and forded it, after which they went through the 
belt of woodland at a walk. By the time they reached 
the open prairie the mustang was recovered sufficiently to 
feel its spirits returning, so Dick gave it a gentle touch with 
the switch, and away they went on their return journey. 

But it amazed Dick not a little to find how long that 
journey was. Very different was the pace, too, from the 
previous mad gallop, and often would the poor horse have 
stopped had Dick allowed him. But this might not be. 
The shades of night were approaching, and the camp lay 
a long way ahead. 

At last it was reached, and Crusoe came out with great 
demonstrations of joy, but was sent back lest he should 
alarm the horse. Then Dick jumped off his back, stroked 
his head, put his cheek close to his mouth and whispered 
softly to him, after which he fastened him to a tree and 
rubbed him down slightly with a bunch of grass. Having 
done this, he left him to graze as far as his tether would 
permit ; and, after supping with Crusoe, lay down to rest, 
not a little elated with his success in this first attempt at 
“ creasing ” and “ breaking ” a mustang. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


In THE Rocky Mountains. 

T here is a proverb, or a saying, or at least somebody 
or book has told us, that some Irishman once said, 
“ Be aisy ; or, if ye can’t be aisy, be as aisy as 
ye can.” 

Now, we count that good advice, and strongly recom- 
mend it to all and sundry. Had we been at the side of 
Dick Varley on the night after his taming of the wild 
horse, we would have strongly urged that advice upon him. 
Whether he would have listened to it or not is quite another 
question ; we rather think not. Reader, if you wish to 
know why, go and do what he did, and if you feel no curious 
sensations about the regions of the loins after it, we will 
tell you why Dick Varley wouldn’t have listened to that 
advice. Can a man feel as if his joints were wrenched out 
of their sockets, and listen to advice, be that advice good 
or bad ? Can he feel as though these joints were trying 
to re-set and re-dislocate themselves perpetually, and 
listen to advice ? Can he feel as if he were sitting down 
on red-hot iron, when he’s not sitting down at all, an 
listen to advice ? Can he — but no ! why pursue the 


THE DOG CRUSOE, 


187 


subject ? Poor Dick spent that night in misery, and the 
greater part of the following day in sleep, to make up for 
it. 

When he got up to breakfast in the afternoon he felt 
much better, but shaky. 

“ Now, pup,” he said, stretching himself, “ we’ll go and 
see our horse. Ours, pup ; yours and mine : didn’t you 
help to catch him, eh, pup ? ” 

Crusoe acknowledged the fact with a wag and a playful 
“ bow-wow — wow-oo-ow ! ” and followed his master to the 
place where the horse had been picketed. It was standing 
there quite quiet, but looking a little timid. 

Dick went boldly up to it, and patted its head and stroked 
its nose, for nothing is so likely to alarm either a tame or a 
wild horse as any appearance of timidity or hesitation on 
the part of those who approach them. 

After treating it thus for a short time, he stroked down 
its neck, and then its shoulders — the horse eyeing him all 
the time nervously. Gradually he stroked its back and 
limbs gently, and walked quietly round and round it once 
or twice, sometimes approaching and sometimes going 
away, but never either hesitating or doing anything 
abruptly. This done, he went down to the stream and 
filled his cap with water and carried it to the horse, which 
snuffed suspiciously and backed a little ; so he laid the 
cap down, and went up and patted him again. Presently 
he took up the cap and carried it to his nose. The poor 
creature was almost choking with thirst, so that, the 
moment he understood what was in the cap, he buried 
his lips and sucked it up. 

This was a great point gained : he had accepted a benefit 
at the hands of his new’ master ; he had become a debtor 
to man, and no doubt he felt the obligation. Dick filled 


188 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


the cap and the horse emptied it again, and again, and 
again, until its burning thirst was slaked. Then Dick 
went up to his shoulder, patted him, undid the line that 
fastened him, and vaulted lightly on his back. 

We say lightly, for it was so, but it wasn’t easily, as Dick 
could have told you. However, he was determined not to 
forego the training of his steed on account of what he 
would have called a “ little bit pain.” 

At this unexpected act the horse plunged and reared a 
good deal, and seemed inclined to go through the perform- 
ance of the day before over again ; but Dick patted and 
stroked him into quiescence, and having done so, urged him 
into a gallop over the plains, causing the dog to gambol 
round, in order that he might get accustomed to him. This 
tried his nerves a good deal, and no wonder, for if he took 
Crusoe for a wolf, which no doubt he did, he must have 
thought him a very giant of the pack. 

By degress they broke into a furious gallop, and after 
breathing him well, Dick returned and tied him to the 
tree. Then he rubbed him down again, and gave him 
another drink. . This time the horse smelt his new master 
all over, and Dick felt that he had conquered him by kind- 
ness. No doubt the tremendous run of the day before could 
scarcely be called kindness, but without this subduing run 
he never could have brought the offices of kindness to 
bear on so wild a steed. 

During all these operations Crusoe sat looking on with 
demure sagacity — drinking in wisdom and taking notes 
We know not whether any notes made by the canine race 
have ever been given to the world, but certain are we that, 
if the notes and observations made by Crusoe on that 
journey were published, they would, to say the least, 
surprise us. 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


189 


Next day Dick gave the wild horse his second lesson, 
and his name. He called him “ Charlie,” after a much- 
loved companion in the Mustang Valley. And long and 
heartily did Dick Varley laugh as he told the horse his 
future designation in the presence of Crusoe, for it struck 
him as somewhat ludicrous that a mustang which, two 
days ago, pawed the earth in all the pride of independent 
freedom, should suddenly come down so low as to carry a 
hunter on his back and be named Charlie. 

The next piece of instruction began by Crusoe being led 
up under Charlie’s nose, and while Dick patted the dog 
with his right hand, he patted the horse with his left. It 
backed a good deal at first and snorted, but Crusoe walked 
slowly and quietly in front of him several times, each time 
coming nearer, until he again stood under his nose ; then, 
the horse smelt him nervously, and gave a sigh of relief 
when he found that Crusoe paid no attention to him 
whatever. Dick then ordered the dog to lie down at 
Charlie’s feet, and went to the camp to fetch his rifle, and 
buffalo robe, and pack of meat. These and all the other 
things belonging to him were presented for inspection, one 
by one, to the horse, who arched his neck, and put forward 
his ears, and eyed them at first, but smelt them all over, 
and seemed to feel more easy in his mind. 

Next the buffalo robe was rubbed over his nose, then 
over his eyes and head, then down his neck and shoulder, 
and lastly was placed on his back. Then it was taken oft 
and flung on ; after that it was strapped on, and the various 
little items of the camp were attached to it. This done, 
Dick took up his rifle and let him smell it ; then he put his 
hand on Charlie’s shoulder, vaulted on to his back, and 
rode away. 

Charlie’s education was completed. And now our hero’s 


190 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


journey began again in earnest, and with some prospect 
of its speedy termination. 

In this course of training through which Dick put his wild 
horse he had been at much greater pains and had taken far 
longer time than is usually the case among the Indians, who 
will catch, and “ break,” and ride a wild horse into camp 
in less than three hours. But Dick wanted to do the thing 
well, which the Indians are not careful to do ; besides, 
it must be borne in remembrance that this was his first 
attempt, and that his horse was one of the best and most 
high-spirited, while those caught by the Indians, as we 
have said, are generally the poorest of a drove. 

Dick now followed the trail of his lost companions at a 
rapid pace, yet not so rapidly as he might have done, being 
averse to exhausting his good dog and his new companion. 
Each night he encamped under the shade of a tree or a bush 
when he could find one, or in the open prairie when there 
were none, and picketing his horse to a short stake or pin 
which he carried with him for the purpose, lit his fire, had 
supper, and lay down to rest. In a few days Charlie be- 
came so tame and so accustomed to his master’s voice that 
he seemed quite reconciled to his new life. There can be 
no doubt whatever that he had a great dislike to solitude ; 
for on one occasion, when Dick and Crusoe went off a 
mile or so from the camp, where Charlie was tied, and 
disappeared from his view, he was heard to neigh so loudly 
that Dick ran back, thinking the wolves must have attacked 
him. He was all right, however, and exhibited evident 
tokens of satisfaction when they returned. 

On another occasion his fear of being left alone was more 
clearly demonstrated. 

Dick had been unable to find wood or water that day, so 
he was obliged to encamp upon the open plain. The want of 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


191 


water was not seriously felt, however, for he had prepared 
a bladder in which he always carried enough to give him 
one pannikin of hot sirup, and leave a mouthful for Crusoe 
and Charlie. Dried buffalo dung formed a substitute for 
fuel. Spreading his buffalo robe, he lit his fire, put on his 
pannikin to boil, and stuck up a piece of meat to roast, to 
the great delight of Crusoe, who sat looking on with much 
interest. 

Suddenly Charlie, who was picketed a few hundred yards 
off in a grassy spot, broke his halter close by the headpiece, 
and with a snort of delight bounded away, prancing and 
kicking up his heels. 

Dick heaved a deep sigh, for he felt sure that his horse 
was gone. However, in a little Charlie stopped, and raised 
his nose high in the air, as if to look for his old equine 
companions. But they were gone ; no answering neigh 
replied to his ; and he felt, probably for the first time, 
that he was really alone in the world. Having no power 
of smell, whereby he might have traced them out as the 
dog would have done, he looked in a bewildered and excited 
state all round the horizon. Then his eye fell on Dick 
and Crusoe sitting by their little fire. Charlie looked hard 
at them, and then again at the horizon ; and then, coming 
to the conclusion, no doubt, that the matter was quite 
beyond his comprehension, he quietly took to feeding. 

Dick availed himself of the chance, and tried to catch 
him ; but he spent an hour with Crusoe in the vain attempt, 
and at last they gave it up in disgust and returned to the 
fire, where they finished their supper and went to bed. 

Next morning they saw Charlie feeding close at hand, so 
they took breakfast, and tried to catch him again. But 
it was of no use ; he was evidently coquetting with them, 
and dodged about and defied their utmost efforts, for /ihere 


192 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


were only a few inches of line hanging to his head. At last 
it occurred to Dick that he would try the experiment of 
forsaking him. So he packed up his things, rolled up the 
buffalo robe, threw it and the rifle on his shoulder, and 
walked deliberately away. 

“ Come along, Crusoe ! ” he cried, after walking a few 
paces. 

But Crusoe stood by the fire with his head up, and an 
expression on his face that said, “ Hallo, man ! what’s 
wrong ? You’ve forgot Charlie ! Hold on ! Are you 
mad ? ” 

“ Come here, Crusoe ! ” cried his master in a decided tone. 

Crusoe obeyed at once. Whatever mistake there might 
be, there was evidently none in that command ; so he 
lowered his head and tail humbly, and trotted on with 
his master, but he perpetually turned his head as he 
went, first on this side, and then on that, to look and won- 
der at Charlie 

When they were far away on tne plain, Charlie suddenly 
became aware that somethng was wrong. He trotted to 
the brow of a slope, with his head and tail very high up 
indeed, and looked after them ; then he looked at the fire, 
and neighed ; then he trotted quickly up to it, and seeing 
that everything was gone he began to neigh violently, and 
at last started oflt at full speed, and overtook his friends, 
passing within a few feet of them, and, wheeling round a 
few yards off, stood trembling like an aspen leaf. 

Dick called him by his name and advanced, while Charlie 
met him half-way, and allowed himself to be saddled, 
bridled, and mounted forthwith. 

After this Dick had no further trouble with his wild 
horse. 

At his next camping-place, which was in the midst of a 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


193 


cluster of bushes close beside a creek Dick came unex- 
pectedly upon a little wooden cross which marked the head 
of a grave. There was no inscription on it, but the Christian 
symbol told that it was the grave of a white man. It is 
impossible to describe the rush of mingled feelings that 
filled the soul of the young hunter as he leaned on the 
muzzle of his rifle and looked at this solitary resting-place 
of one who, doubtless like himself, had been a roving 
hunter. Had he been young or old when he fell ? had he 
a mother in the distant settlement who watched and longed 
and waited for the son that was never more to gladden 
her eyes ? had he been murdered, or had he died there 
and been buried by his sorrowing comrades ? These and 
a thousand questions passed rapidly through his mind as 
he gazed at the little cross. 

Suddenly he started. “ Could it be the grave of Joe 
or Henri ? ” For an instant the idea sent a chill to his 
heart ; but it passed quickly, for a second glance showed 
that the grave was old, and that the wooden cross had 
stood over it for years. 

Dick turned away with a saddened heart ; and that 
night, as he pored over the pages of his Bible, his mind was 
filled with many thoughts about eternity and the world 
to come. He, too, must come to the grave one day, and 
quit the beautiful prairies and his loved rifle. It was a 
sad thought ; but while he meditated he thought upon 
his mother. “ After all,” he murmured, “ there must be 
happiness without the rifle, and youth, and health, and 
the prairie ! My mother’s happy, yet she don’t shoot, 
or ride like wild-fire over the plains.” Then that word 
which had been sent so sweetly to him through her hand 
came a^ain to his mind, “ My son, give me thine heart ; ” 
and as he read God’s Book he met with the word, “ Delight 
13 


194 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


thyself in the Lord, and he shall give thee the desire of thine 
heart.” “ The desire of thine heart.^^ Dick repeated this, 
and pondered it till he fell asleep. 

A misfortune soon after this befel Dick Varley which 
well-nigh caused him to give way to despair. For some 
time past he had been approaching the eastern slopes of 
the Rocky Mountains — those ragged, jagged, mighty hills 
which run through the whole continent from north to 
south in a continuous chain, and form, as it were, the 
backbone of America. One morning, as he threw the 
buffalo robe off his shoulders and sat up, he was horrified 
to find the whole earth covered with a mantle of snow. 
We say he was horrified, for this rendered it absolutely 
impossible any further to trace his companions either by 
scent or sight. 

For some time he sat musing bitterly on his sad fate, 
while his dog came and laid his head sympathizingly on 
his arm. 

“ Ah, pup ! ” he said, “ I know ye’d help me if ye could ! 
But it’s all up now ; there’s no chance of findin’ them — 
none ! ” 

To this Crusoe replied by a low whine. He knew full 
well that something distressed his master, but he hadn’t yet 
ascertained what it was. As something had to be done, 
Dick put the buffalo robe on his steed, and mounting said, as 
he was in the habit of doing each morning, “ Lead on, pup ! ” 

Crusoe put his nose to the ground and ran forward a 
few paces, then he returned and ran about snuffing and 
scraping up the snow. At last he looked up and uttered 
a long melancholy howl. 

“ Ah ! I knowed it,” said Dick, pushing forward. 
“ Come on, pup ; you’ll have to follow now. Anyway 
we must go on.” 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


195 


The snow that had fallen was not deep enough to offer 
the slightest obstruction to their advance. It was, in- 
deed, only one of those occasional showers common to 
that part of the country in the late autumn, which season 
had now crept upon Dick almost before he was aware 
of it, and he fully expected that it would melt away in a 
few days. In this hope he kept steadily advancing, until 
he found himself in the midst of those rocky fastnesses 
which divide the waters that flow into the Atlantic from 
those that flow into the Paciflc Ocean. Still the slight 
crust of snow lay on the ground, and he had no means of 
knowing whether he was going in the right direction or 
not. 

Game was abundant, and there was no lack of wood 
now, so that his night bivouac was not so cold or dreary 
as might have been expected. 

Travelling, however, had become difficult, and even 
dangerous, owing to the rugged nature of the ground over 
which he proceeded. The scenery had completely changed 
in its character. Dick no longer coursed over the free 
open plains, but he passed through beautiful valleys 
filled with luxuriant trees, and hemmed in by stupendous 
mountains, whose rugged sides rose upward until the snow- 
clad peaks pierced the clouds. 

There was something awful in these dark solitudes, 
quite overwhelming to a youth of Dick’s temperament. 
His heart began to sink lower and lower every day, and 
the utter impossibility of making up his mind what to 
do became at length agonizing. To have turned and 
gone back the hundreds of miles over which he had 
travelled would have caused him some anxiety under 
any circumstances, but to do so while Joe and Henri were 
either wandering about there or in the power of the savages 


196 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


was, he felt, out of the question. Yet in which way 
should he go ? Whatever course he took might lead him 
farther and farther away from them. 

In this dilemma he came to the determination of re- 
maining where he was, at least until the snow should 
leave the ground. 

He felt great relief even when this hopeless course was 
decided upon, and set about making himself an encamp- 
ment with some degree of cheerfulness. When he had 
completed this task, he took his rifle, and leaving Charlie 
picketed in the centre of a dell, where the long, rich grass 
rose high above the snow, went off to hunt. 

On turning a rocky point his heart suddenly bounded 
into his throat, for there, not thirty yards distant, stood 
a huge grizzly bear ! 

Yes, there he was at last, the monster to meet which the 
young hunter had so often longed, the terrible size and 
fierceness of which he had heard so often spoken about 
by the old hunters. There it stood at last ; but little did 
Dick Varley think that the first time he should meet with 
his foe should be when alone in the dark recesses of the 
Rocky Mountains, and with none to succour him in the 
event of the battle going against him. Yes, there was 
one. The faithful Crusoe stood by his side, with his hair 
bristling, all his formidable teeth exposed, and hi^ eyes 
glaring in their sockets. Alas for poor Crusoe had he 
gone into that combat alone ! One stroke of that monster’s 
paw would have hurled him dead upon the ground. 


CHAPTER XVIL 


The Fight With The Bear. 

T here is no animal in all the land so terrible and 
dangerous as the grizzly bear. Not only is he the 
largest of the species in America, but he is the 
fiercest, the strongest, and the most tenacious of life — facts 
which are so well understood that few of the western 
hunters like to meet him single-handed, unless they 
happen to be first-rate shots ; and the Indians deem the 
encounter so dangerous that to wear a collar composed of 
the claws of a grizzly bear of his own killing is counted 
one of the highest honours to which a young warrior can 
attain. 

The grizzly bear resembles the brown bear of Europe, 
but it is larger, and the hair is long, the points being of 
a paler shade. About the head there is a considerable 
mixture of grey hair, giving it the “ grizzly ” appearance 
from which it derives its name. The claws are dirty 
white, arched, and very long, and so strong that when the 
animal strikes with its paw they cut like a chisel. These 
claws are not embedded in the paw, as is the case with 
the cat, but always project far beyond the hair, thus 


198 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


giving to the foot a very ungainly appearance. They 
are not sufficiently curved to enable the grizzly bear to 
climb trees, like the black and brown bears ; and this 
inability on their part is often the only hope of the pursued 
hunter, who, if he succeeds in ascending a tree, is safe, 
for the time at least, from the bear’s assaults. But 
“ Caleb ” is a patient creature, and will often wait at the 
foot of the tree for many hours for his victim. 

The average length of his body is about nine feet, but 
he sometimes attains to a still larger growth. Caleb is 
more carnivorous in his habits than other bears ; but, like 
them, he does not object to indulge occasionally in vege- 
table diet, being partial to the bird-cherry, the choke- 
berry, and various shrubs. He has a sweet tooth, too, 
and revels in honey — when he can get it. 

The instant the grizzly bear beheld Dick Varley standing 
in his path, he rose on his hind legs and made a loud 
hissing noise, like a man breathing quick, but much harsher. 
To this Crusoe replied by a deep growl, and showing the 
utmost extent of his teeth, gums and all ; and Dick 
cocked both barrels of his rifle. 

To say that Dick Varley felt no fear would be simply to 
make him out that sort of hero which does not exist in 
nature — namely, a perfect hero. He did feel a sensation 
as if his bowels had suddenly melted into water. Let 
not our reader think the worse of Dick for this. There 
is not a man living who, having met with a huge grizzly 
bear for the first time in his life in a wiH, solitary place, 
all alone, has not experienced some such sensation. There 
was no cowardice in this feeling. Fear is not cowardice. 
Acting in a wrong and contemptible manner because of 
our fear is cowardice. 

It is said that Wellington or Napoleon, we forget which, 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


199 


once stood watching the muster of the men who were to 
form the forlom-hope in storming a citadel. There were 
many brave, strong, stalwart men there, in the prime of 
life, and flushed with the blood of high health and courage. 
There were also there a few stern-browed men of riper 
years, who stood perfectly silent, with lips compressed, 
and as pale as death. “ Yonder veterans,” said the general, 
pointing to these soldiers, “ are men whose courage I can 
depend on ; they know what they are going to, the others 
don't ! ” Yes, these young soldiers very probably were 
brave ; the others certainly were. 

Dick Varley stood for a few seconds as if thunderstruck, 
while the bear stood hissing at him. Then the lique- 
faction of his interior ceased, and he felt a glow of fire 
gush through his veins. Now Dick knew well enough 
that to fly from a grizzly bear was the sure and certain 
way of being torn to pieces, as when taken thus by sur- 
prise they almost invariably follow a retreating enemy. 
He also knew that if he stood where he was, perfectly 
still, the bear would get uncomfortable under his stare, 
and would retreat from him. But he neither intended to run 
away himself nor to allow the bear to do so ; he intended 
to kill it, so he raised his rifle quickly, “ drew a bead,” 
as the hunters express it, on the bear’s heart, and fired 

It immediately dropped on its fore legs and rushed 
at him 

“ Back, Crusoe ! out of the way, pup ! ” shouted Dick, 
as his favourite was about to spring forward. 

The dog retired, and Dick leaped behind a tree. As 
the bear passed he gave it the contents of the second 
barrel behind the shoulder, which brought it down ; but 
in another moment it rose and again rushed at him. Dick 
had no time to load, neither had he time to spring up 


200 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


the thick tree beside which he stood, and the rocky nature 
of the ground out of which it grew rendered it impossible 
to dodge round it. His only resource was flight ; but 
where was he to fly to ? If he ran along the open track, 
the bear would overtake him in a few seconds. On the 
right was a sheer precipice one hundred feet high ; on 
the left was an impenetrable thicket. In despair he 
thought for an instant of clubbing his rifle and meeting 
the monster in close conflict ; but the utter hopelessness of 
such an effort was too apparent to be entertained for a 
moment. He glanced up at the overhanging cliffs. There 
were one or two rents and projections close above him. 
In the twinkling of an eye he sprang up and grasped a 
ledge of about an inch broad, ten or twelve feet up, to 
which he clung while he glanced upward. Another pro- 
jection was within reach ; he gained it, and in a few 
seconds he stood upon a ledge about twenty feet up 
the cliff, where he had just room to plant his feet flrmly. 

Without waiting to look behind, he seized his powder- 
horn and loaded one barrel of his rifle ; and well was it for 
him that his early training had fltted him to do this with 
rapidity, for the bear deished up the precipice after him at 
once. The first time it missed its hold and fell back with a 
savage growl ; but on the second attempt it sank its long 
claws into the fissures between the rocks, and ascended 
steadily till within a foot of the place where Dick stood. 

At this moment Crusoe’s obedience gave way before a 
sense of Dick’s danger. Uttering one of his lion-like 
roars, he rushed up the precipice with such violence that, 
although naturally unable to climb, he reached and seized 
the bear’s flank, despite his master’s stern order to “ keep 
back,” and in a moment the two rolled down the face of 
the rock together, just as Dick completed loading. 



THK BEAR SANK ITS LONG CLAWS INTO THE FISSURES BETWEEN THE 
ROCKS, AND ASCENDED STEADILY TILL WITHIN A FOOT 
OF THE PLACE WHERE DICK STOOD. 





THE DOG CRUSOE. 


201 


Knowing that one stroke of the bear’s paw would be 
certain death to his poor dog, Dick leaped from his perch, 
and with one bound reached the ground at the same 
moment with the struggling animals, and close beside them, 
and, before they had ceased rolling, he placed the muzzle 
of his rifle into the bear’s ear, and blew out its brains. 

Crusoe, strange to say, escaped with only one scratch 
on the side. It was a deep one, but not dangerous, and 
gave him but little pain at the time, although it caused 
him many a smart for some weeks after. 

Thus happily ended Dick’s first encounter with a grizzly 
bear ; and although, in the course of his wild life, he shot 
many specimens of “ Caleb,” he used to say that “ he 
an’ pup were never so near goin’ under as on the day he 
dropped that bar.” 

Having refreshed himself with a long draught from a 
neighbouring rivulet, and washed Crusoe’s wound, Dick 
skinned the bear on the spot. 

“ We chawed him up that time, didn’t we, pup ? ” said 
Dick, with a smile of satisfaction, as he surveyed his 
prize. 

Crusoe looked up and assented to this. 

“ Gave us a hard tussle, though ; very nigh sent us 
both under, didn’t he, pup ? ” 

Crusoe agreed entirely, and, as if the remark reminded 
him of honourable scars, he licked his wound. 

“ Ah, pup ! ” cried Dick, sympathetically, “ does’t hurt 
ye, eh, poor dog ? ” 

Hurt him ? Such a question ! No, he should think 
not ; better ask if that leap from the precipice hurt 
yourself. 

So Crusoe might have said, but he didn’t ; he took 
no notice of the remark whatever. 


202 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


“ We’ll cut him up now, pup,” continued Dick. “ The 
skin’ll make a splendid bed for you an’ me o’ nights, and 
a saddle for Charlie.” 

Dick cut out all the claws of the bear by the roots, 
and spent the remainder of that night in cleaning them 
and stringing them on a strip of leather to form a neck- 
lace. Independently of the value of these enormous claws 
(the largest as long as a man’s middle finger) as an evidence 
of prowess, they formed a remarkably graceful collar, 
which Dick wore round his neck ever after with as much 
pride as if he had been a Pawnee warrior. 

When it was finished he held it out at arm’s length, 
and said, “ Crusoe, my pup, ain’t you proud of it ? I’ll 
tell ye what it is, pup : the next time you and I floor 
Caleb, I’ll put the claws round your neck, an’ make ye 
wear ’em ever arter, so I will.” 

The dog did not seem quite to appreciate this piece of 
prospective good fortune. Vanity had no place in his 
honest breast, and, sooth to say, it had not a large place 
in that of his master either, as we may well grant when 
we consider that this first display of it was on the occasion 
of his hunter’s soul having at last realized its brightest 
day-dream. 

Dick’s dangers and triumphs seemed to accumulate on 
him rather thickly at this place, for on the very next 
day he had a narrow escape of being killed by a deer. 
The way of it was this. 

Having run short of meat, and not being particularly 
fond of grizzly bear steak, he shouldered his rifle and 
sallied forth in quest of game, accompanied by Crusoe, 
whose frequent glances towards his wounded side showed 
that, whatever may have been the case the day before, it 
“hurt” him now. 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


203 


They had not gone far when they came on the track 
of a deer in the snow, and followed it up till they spied 
a magnificent buck about three hundreds yards off, standing 
in a level patch of ground which was everywhere surrounded 
either by rocks or thicket. It was a long shot, but as 
the nature of the ground rendered it impossible for Dick 
to get nearer without being seen, he fired, and wounded 
the buck so badly that he came up with it in a few minutes. 
The snow had drifted in the place where it stood bolt 
upright, ready for a spring, so Dick went round a little 
way, Crusoe following, till he was in a proper position 
to fire again. Just as he pulled the trigger, Crusoe gave 
a howl behind him and disturbed his aim, so that he feared 
he had missed ; but the deer fell, and he hurried towards 
it. On coming up, however, the buck sprang to its legs 
rushed at him with its hair bristling, knocked him down 
in the snow, and deliberately commenced stamping him 
to death. 

Dick was stunned for a moment, and lay quite still, 
so the deer left off pommelling him, and stood looking 
at him. But the instant he moved it plunged at him 
again and gave him another pounding, until he was content 
to lie still. This was done several times, and Dick felt 
his strength going fast. He was surprised that Crusoe 
did not come to his rescue, and once he cleared his mouth 
and whistled to him ; but as the deer gave him another 
pounding for this, he didn’t attempt it again. He now 
for the first time bethought him of his knife, and quietly 
drew it from his belt ; but the deer observed the motion 
and was on him again in a moment. Dick, however, sprang 
up on his left elbow, and making several desperate thrusts 
upwards, succeeded in stabbing the animal to the heart. 

Rising and shaking the snow from his garments, he 


204 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


whistled loudly to Crusoe, and, on listening, heard him 
whining piteously. He hurried to the place whence the 
sound came, and found that the poor dog had fallen into 
a deep pit or crevice in the rocks, which had been con- 
cealed from view by a crust of snow, and he was now 
making frantic but unavailing efforts to leap out. 

Dick soon freed him from his prison by means of his 
belt, which he let down for the dog to grasp, and then 
returned to camp with as much deer meat as he could 
carry. Dear meat it certainly was to him, for it had 
nearly cost him his life, and left him all black and blue 
for weeks after. Happily no bones were broken, so the 
incident only confined him a day to his encampment. 

Soon after this the snow fell thicker than ever, and 
it became evident that an unusually early winter was 
about to set in among the mountains. This was a terrible 
calamity, for if the regular snow of winter set in, it would 
be impossible for him either to advance or retreat. 

While he was sitting on his bearskin by the camp-fire 
one day, thinking anxiously what he should do, and feeling 
that he must either make the attempt to escape or perish 
miserably in that secluded spot, a strange, unwonted 
sound struck upon his ear, and caused both him and Crusoe 
to spring violently to their feet and listen. Could he 
be dreaming ? It seemed like the sound of human voices. 
For a moment he stood with his eyes riveted on the ground, 
his lips apart, and his nostrils distended, as he listened 
with the utmost intensity. Then he darted out and 
bounded round the edge of a rock which concealed an 
extensive but narrow valley from his view, and there 
to his amazement, he beheld a band of about a hundred 
human beings advancing on horseback slowly through 
the snow. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

News of Joe. 

THICK’S first and most natural impulse, on benolding 
this band, was to mount his horse and fly, for his 
mind naturally enough recurred to the former 
rough treatment he had experienced at the hands of 
Indians. On seconds thoughts, however, he considered 
it wiser to throw himself upon the hospitality of the 
strangers ; “ for,’* thought he, “ they can but kill me, 
an’ if I remain here I’m like to die at any rate.” 

So Dick mounted his wild horse, grasped his rifle in 
his right hand, and, followed by Crusoe, galloped full 
tilt down the valley to meet them. 

He had heard enough of the customs of savage tribes, 
and had also of late experienced enough, to convince him 
that when a man found himself in the midst of an over- 
whelming force, his best policy was to assume an air of 
confident courage. He therefore approached them at 
his utmost speed. 

The effect upon the advancing band was electrical ; 
and little wonder, for the young hunter’s appearance was 
very striking. His horse from having rested a good deal 


206 


THE DOG CRUSOE: 


of late, was full of spirit. Its neck was arched, its nostrils 
expanded, and its mane and tail never having been checked 
in their growth flew wildly around him in voluminous 
curls. Dick’s own hair not having been clipped for many 
months appeared scarcely less wild, as, they thundered 
down the rocky pass at what appeared a break-neck 
gallop. Add to this the grandeur of the scene out of 
which they sprang, and the gigantic dog that bounded 
by his side, and you will not be surprised to hear that 
the Indian warriors clustered together, and prepared to 
receive this bold horseman as if he, in his own proper 
person, were a complete squadron of cavalry, It is 
probable, also, that they fully expected the tribe of which 
Dick was chief to be at his heels. 

As he drew near the excitement among the strangers 
seemed very great, and, from the peculiarity of the various 
cries that reached him, he knew that there were women 
and children in the band — a fact which, in such a place 
and at such a season, was so unnatural that it surprised 
him very much. He noted also that, though the men 
in front were Indians, their dresses were those of trappers 
and hunters, and he almost leaped out of his saddle when 
he observed that “ Pale- faces ” were among them. But 
he had barely time to note these fact when he was up 
with the band. According to Indian custom, he did not 
check his speed till he was within four or five yards of 
the advance guard, who stood in a line before him, quite 
still, and with their rifles lying loosely in their left palms ; 
then he reined his steed almost on its haunches. 

One of the Indians advanced and spoke a few words 
in a language which was quite unintelligible to Dick, 
who replied, in the little Pawnee he could muster, that 
he didn’t understand him. 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


207 


“ Why, you must be a trapper ! ” exclaimed a thick- 
set, middle-aged man, riding out from the group. “ Can 
you speak English ? ” 

“Ay, that can I,” cried Dick joyfully, riding up and 
shaking the stranger heartily by the hand ; “an’ right 
glad am I to fall in wi’ a white-skin an’ a civil tongue 
in his head.” 

“ Good sooth, sir,” replied the stranger, with a quiet 
smile on his kind, weather-beaten face, “ I can return 
you the compliment ; for when I saw you come thundering 
down the corrie with that wonderful horse and no less 
wonderful dog of yours, I thought you were the wild man 
o’ the mountain himself, and had an ambush ready to 
back you. But, young man, do you mean to say that 
you live here in the mountain all alone after this fashion ? ” 

“ No, that I don’t. I’ve corned here in my travels, 
but truly this beean’t my home. But, sir (for I see you 
are what the fur-traders call a bourgeois), how comes it 
that such a band as this rides i’ the mountains ? D’ye 
mean to say that they live here ? ” Dick looked round 
in surprise, as he spoke, upon the crowd of mounted men 
and women, with children and pack-horses, that now 
surrounded him. 

“ ’Tis a fair question, lad. I am a principal among the 
fur-traders whose chief trading-post lies near the Pacific 
Ocean, on the west side of these mountains ; and I have 
come with these trappers and their families, as you see, 
to hunt the beaver and other animals for a season in the 
mountains. We’ve never been here before ; but that’s 
a matter of little moment, for it’s not the first time I’ve 
been on what may be called a discovery- trading expedition. 
We are somewhat entangled, however, just now among 
these wild passes, and if you can guide us out of our 


208 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


difficulties to the east side of the mountains, I’ll thank 
you heartily and pay you well. But first tell me who 
and what you are, if it’s a fair question.” 

“ My name is Dick Varley, and my home’s in the 
Mustang Valley, near the Missouri River. As to what 
I am — I’m nothin’ yet, but I hope to desarve the name 
o’ a hunter some day. I can guide you to the east side 
o’ the mountains, for I’ve corned from there ; but more 
than that I can’t do, for I’m a stranger to the country 
here, like yourself. But you’re on the east side o’ the 
mountains already, if I mistake not ; only these mountains 
are so rugged and jumbled up that it’s not easy tellin’ 
where ye are. And what,” continued Dick, “ may be 
the name o’ the bourgeois who speaks to me % ” 

“ My name is Cameron — Walter Cameron — a well- 
known name among the Scottish hills, although it sounds 
a little strange here. And now, young man, will you 
join my party as guide, and afterwards remain as trapper ? 
It will pay you better, I think, than roving about alone.” 

Dick shook his head and looked grave. “ I’ll guide 
you,” said he, “ as far as my knowledge ’ll help me ; 
but after that I must return to look for two comrades 
whom I have lost. They have been driven into the 
mountains by a band of Injuns. God grant they may not 
have been scalped ! ” 

The trader’s face looked troubled, and he spoke with 
one of his Indians for a few minutes in earnest, hurried 
tones. 

“ What were they like, young man ? ” 

Dick described them. 

The same,” continued the trader. “ They’ve been 
seen, lad, not more than two days ago, by this Indian 
here, when he was out hunting alone some miles away 


THE DOG CRUSOE 


209 


from our camp. He came suddenly upon a band of 
Indians who had two prisoners with them, such as you 
describe. They were stout, said you ? ” 

“ Yes, both of them,” cried Dick, listening with intense 
eagerness. 

“ Ay. They were tied to their horses, an’ from what 
I know of these fellows I’m sure they’re doomed. But 
I’ll help you, my friend, as well as I can. They can’t 
be far from this. I treated my Indian’s story about them 
as a mere fabrication, for he’s the most notorious liar in my 
company ; but he seems to have spoken truth for once.” 

“ Thanks, thanks, good sir,” cried Dick. “ Had we 
not best turn back and follow them at once ? ” 

“ Nay, friend ; not quite so fast,” replied Cameron, 
pointing to his people. “ These must be provided for 
first ; but I shall be ready before the sun goes down. 
And now, as I presume you don’t bivouac in the snow, 
will you kindly conduct us to your encampment, if it be 
not far hence ? ” 

Although burning with impatience to fly to the rescue 
of his friends, Dick felt constrained to comply with so 
reasonable a request, so he led the way to his camping- 
place, where the band of fur-traders immediately began 
to pitch their tents, cut down wood, kindle fires, fill their 
kettles with water, cook their food, and, in fact make 
themselves comfortable. The wild spot which, an hour 
before, had been so still, and grand, and gloomy, was 
now, as if by magic, transformed into a bustling village, 
with bright fires blazing among the rocks and bushes, 
and merry voices of men, women and children ringing 
in the air. It seemed almost incredible, and no wonder, 
Dick, in his bewilderment, had difiiculty in believing it 
was not all a dream. 

14 


210 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


In days long gone by the fur-trade in that country 
was carried on in a very different way from the manner 
m which it is now conducted. These wild regions, indeed, 
are still as lonesome and untenanted (save by wild beasts 
and wandering tribes of Indians) as they were then ; 
but the Indians of the present day have become accustomed 
to the “ Pale-face ” trader, whose little wooden forts or 
trading-posts are dotted here and there, at wide intervals, 
all over the land. But in the days of which we write 
it was not so. The fur-traders at that time went forth 
in armed bands into the heart of the Indians’ country, 
and he who went forth did so “ with his life in his hand.” 
As in the case of the soldier who went out to battle, there 
was great probability that he might never return. 

The band of which Walter Cameron was the chief had, 
many months before, started from one of the distant 
posts of Oregon on a hunting expedition into the then 
totally unknown lands of the Snake Indians. It consisted 
of about sixty men, thirty women, and as many children 
of various ages — about a hundred and twenty souls in 
all. Many of the boys were capable of using the gun 
and setting a beaver-trap. The men were a most motley 
set. There were Canadians, half-breeds, Iroquois, and 
Scotchmen, Most of the women had Indian blood in 
their veins, and a few were pure Indians. 

The equipment of this strange band consisted of up- 
wards of two hundred beaver-traps — which are similar to 
our rat-traps, with this difference, that they have two 
springs and no teeth — seventy guns, a few articles for 
trade with the Indians, and a large supply of powder 
and ball ; the whole — men, women, children, goods, and 
chattels — being carried on the backs of nearly four hundred 
horses. Many of these horses, at starting, were not 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


211 


laden, being designed for the transport of furs that were 
to be taken in the course of the season. 

For food this adventurous party depended entirely on 
their guns, and during the march hunters were kept 
constantly out ahead. As a matter of course, their living 
was precarious. Sometimes their kettles were overflowing ; 
at others they scarce refrained from eating their horses. 
But during the months they had already spent in the 
wilderness good living had been the rule, starvation the 
exception. They had already collected a large quantity 
of beaver skins, which at that time were among the most 
valuable in the market, although they are now scarcely 
saleable ! 

Having shot two wild horses, seven elks, six small 
deer, and four big-horned sheep the day before they met 
Dick Varley, the camp kettles were full, and the people 
consequently happy. 

“ Now, Master Dick Varley,” said Cameron, touching 
the young hunter on the shoulder as he stood ready equipped 
by one of the camp-fires, “ I’m at your service. The 
people won’t need any more looking after to-night. I’ll 
divide my men : thirty shall go after this rascally band 
of Peigans, for such I believe they are, and thirty shall 
remain to guard the camp. Are you ready ? ” 

“ Ready ! ay, this hour past.” 

“ Mount then, lad ; the men have already been told 
off, and are mustering down yonder where the deer gave 
you such a licking.” 

Dick needed no second bidding. He vaulted on Charlie’s 
back, and along with their commander joined the men, 
who were thirty as fine, . ha^y, feckless-looking fellows 
as one could desire for a forlorn-hope. They were chatting 
and laughing while they examined their guns and saddle- 


212 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


girths. Their horses were sorry-looking animals compared 
with the magnificent creature that Dick bestrode, but 
they were hardy, nevertheless, and well fitted for their 
peculiar work. 

“ My ! wot a blazer ! ’’ exclaimed a trapper as Dick 
rode up. 

“ Where did you git him ? ” inquired a half-breed. 

“ I caught him,” answered Dick. 

“ Baw ! ” cried the first speaker. 

Dick took no notice of this last remark. 

“ No, did you though ? ” he asked again. 

“ I did,” answered Dick quietly. “ I creased him in 
the prairie ; you can see the mark on his neck if you 
look.” 

The men began to feel that the young hunter was 
perhaps a little beyond them at their own trade, and 
regarded him with increased respect. 

“ Look sharp now, lads,” said Cameron impatiently, 
to several dilatory members of the band. “ Night wilj 
be on us ere long.” 

“ Who sold ye the bear-claw collar ? ” inquired another 
man of Dick. 

“ I didn’t buy it. I killed the bear and made it.” 

“ Did ye though, all be yer lone ? ” 

“ Ay ; that wasn’t much, was it 1 ” 

“ You’ve begun well, yonker,” said a tall, middle-aged 
hunter, whose general appearance was not unlike that 
of Joe Blunt. “ Jest keep clear o’ the Injuns an’ the 
grog bottle, an’ ye’ve a glor’ous life before ye.” 

At this point the conversation was interrupted by the 
order being given to move on, which was obeyed in silence ; 
and the cavalcade, descending the valley, entered one of 
the gorges in the mountains. 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


213 


For the first half-mile Cameron rode a little ahead of 
his men, then he turned to speak to one of them, and 
for the first time observed Crusoe trotting close behind 
his master’s horse. 

“ Ah ! Master Dick,” he exclaimed with a troubled 
expression, “ that won’t do. It would never do to take 
a dog on an expedition like this.” 

“ Why not ? ” asked Dick ; “ the pup’s quiet and 

peaceable.” 

“ I doubt it not ; but he will betray our presence to 
the Indians, which might be inconvenient.” 

“ I have travelled more than a thousand miles through 
prairie and forest, among game an’ among Injuns, an’ 
the pup never betrayed me yet,” said Dick with suppressed 
vehemence. “ He has saved my life more than once 
though.” 

“ You seem to have perfect confidence in your dog, 
but as this is a serious matter you must not expect me 
to share in it without proof of his trustworthiness.” 

“ The pup may be useful to us ; how would you have 
it proved ? ” inquired Dick. 

“ Any way you like.” 

“ You forgot your belt at starting, I think I heerd ye 
say.” 

“Yes, I did,” replied the trader, smiling. 

Dick immediately took hold of Cameron’s coat, and 
bade Crusoe smell it, which the dog did very carefully. 
Thon he showed him his own belt and said, “ Go back 
to the camp and fetch it pup.” 

Crusoe was off in a moment, and in less than twenty 
minutes returned with Cameron’s belt in his mouth. 

“Well, I’ll trust him,” said Cameron, patting Crusoe " 
head. “ Forward, lads ! ” and away they went at 


214 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


brisk trot along the bottom of a beautiful valley, on each 
side of which the mountains towered in dark masses. 
Soon the moon rose and afforded light sufficient to enable 
them to travel all night in the track of the Indian hunter 
who said he had seen the Peigans, and who was constituted 
guide to the party. Hour after hour the horsemen pressed 
on without check, now galloping over a level plain, now 
bounding by the banks of a rivulet, or bending their 
heads to escape the boughs of overhanging trees, and 
anon toiling slowly up among the rocks of some narrow defile. 
At last the moon set and order was given to halt in a 
little plain where there was wood and water. 

The horses were picketed, a fire kindled, a mouthful of 
dried meat hastily eaten, the watch was set, and then 
each man scraped away the snow, spread some branches 
on the ground, and wrapping himself in his blanket, 
went to sleep with his feet presented towards the fire. 

Two hours were allowed for rest ; then they were 
awakened, and in a few minutes were off again by the 
gray light of dawn. In this way they travelled two 
nights and a day. At the end of that time they came 
suddenly on a small party of nine Indians, who were 
seated on the ground with their snow-shoes and blankets 
by their sides. They had evidently been taken by sur- 
prise, but they made no attempt to escape, knowing that 
it was useless. Each sat still with his bow and arrows 
between his legs on the ground ready for instant 
use. 

As soon as Cameron spoke, however, in their own 
language they felt relieved, and began to talk. 

“ Where do you come from, and what are you doing 
lere ? ** asked the trader. 

“ We have come to trade with the white men,” one of them 


THE BOG CRUSOE. 


215 


replied, “ and to hunt. We ha've come from the Missouri. 
Our countiy is far away.” 

“ Bo Peigans hunt with war -arrows ? ” asked Cameron, 
pointing to their weapons. 

This question seemed to perplex them, for they saw 
that their interrogator knew the difference between a 
war and a hunting arrow — the former being barbed, in 
order to render its extraction from the wound difficult, 
while the head of the latter is round, and can be drawn 
out of game that has been killed, and used again. 

“ And do Peigans,” continued Cameron, “ come from 
a far country to trade with the white men with nothing ? ” 

Again the Indians were silent, for they had not an 
article to trade about them. 

Cameron now felt convinced that this party of Peigans, 
into whose hands Joe Blunt and Henri had fallen, were 
nothing else than a war party, and that the men now 
before him were a scouting party sent out from them 
probably to spy out his own camp, on the trail of 
which they had fallen, so he said to them : — 

“ The Peigans are not wise men ; they tell lies to the 
traders. I will tell you that you are a war party, and 
that you are only a few warriors sent out to spy the trader’s 
camp. You have also two Pale-face prisoners in your 
camp. You cannot deceive me. It is useless to try. 
Now, conduct me to your camp. My object is not war ; 
it is peace. I will speak with your chiefs about trading 
with the white men, and we will smoke the pipe of peace. 
Are my words good ? ” 

Despite their proverbial control of muscle, these Indians 
could not conceal their astonishment at hearing so much 
of their affairs thus laid bare ; so they said that the Pale 
face chief was wise, and that he must be a great medicine 


216 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


man, and that what he said was all true except about 
the white men. They had never seen any Pale-faces, 
and knew nothing whatever of those he spoke of. 

This was a terrible piece of news to poor Dick, and 
at first his heart fairly sank within him, but by degrees 
he came to be more hopeful. He concluded that if these 
men told lies in regard to one thing, they would do it 
in regard to another, and perhaps they might have some 
strong reason for denying any knowledge of Joe and 
Henri. 

The Indians now packed up the buffalo robes on which 
they had slept, and the mouthful of provisions they had 
taken with them. 

“ I don’t believe a word of what they say about your 
friends,” said Cameron to Dick in a low tone whfle the 
Indians were thus engaged. “ Depend upon it they hope 
to hide them till they can send to the settlements and 
get a ransom, or till they get an opportunity of torturing 
them to death before their women and children when 
they get back to their own village. But we’ll balk them 
my friend, do not fear.” 

The Indians were soon ready to start, for they were 
cumbered with marvellously little camp equipage. In 
less than half an hour after their discovery they were 
running like deer ahead of the cavalcade in the direction 
of the Peigan camp. 


CHAPTER XIX, 


Crusoe Discovers the Prisoners 


A RUN of twenty miles brought the travellers to a 
rugged defile in the mountains, from which they 
had a view of a beautiful valley of considerable 
extent. During the last two days a steady thaw had 
been rapidly melting away the snow, so that it appeared 
only here and there in the landscape in dazzling patches. 
At tiie distance of about half a mile from where they 
halted to breathe the horses before commencing the 
descent into this vale, several thin wreaths of smoke 
were seen rising above the trees. 

“ Is that your camp ? ” inquired Cameron, riding up 
to the Indian runners, who stood in a group in front, 
looking as fresh after their twenty miles run as though 
they had only had a short walk. 

To this they answered in the affirmative, adding that 
there were about two hundred Peigans there. 


218 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


It might have been thought that thirty men would 
have hesitated to venture to attack so large a number 
as two hundred ; but it had always been found in the 
experience of Indian life that a few resolute white men 
well armed were more than a match for ten times their 
number of Indians. And this arose not so much from the 
superior strength or agility of the Whites over their red 
foes, as from that bull-dog courage and utter recklessness 
of their lives in combat — qualities which the crafty savage 
can neither imitate nor understand. The information 
was received with perfect indifference by most of the 
trappers, and with contemptuous laughter by some ; for 
a large number of Cameron’s men were wild, evil-disposed 
fellows, who would have as gladly taken the life of an 
Indian as that of a buffalo. 

Just as the word was given to resume the march, Dick 
Varley rode up to Cameron and said in a somewhat anxious 
tone, — 

“ D’ye obsarve, sir, that one o’ the Redskins has gone 
off ahead o* his comrades ? ” 

“ I see that, Master Dick, and it was a mistake of mine 
not to have stopped him ; but he was gone too far before 
I observed it, and I thought it better to appear uncon- 
cerned. We must push on, though, and give him as short 
time as possible to talk with his comrades in the 
camp.” 

The trappers pressed forward accordingly at a gallop, 
and were soon in front of the clump of trees amongst 
which the Peigans were encamped. Their approach had 
evidently spread great alarm among them, for there was 
a good deal of bustle and rimning to and fro ; but by the 
time the trappers had dismounted and advanced in a 
body on foot, the savages had resumed their usual quiet 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


219 


dignity of appearance, and were seated calmly round 
their fires with their bows and arrows beside them. There 
were no tents, no women or children, and the general 
aspect of the men showed Cameron conclusively 
that his surmise about their being a war party was 
correct. 

A council was immediately called. The trappers ranged 
themselves on one side of the council fire and the Indians 
on the other. Meanwhile, our friend Crusoe had been 
displaying considerable irritability against the Indians, 
and he would certainly have attacked the whole two 
hundred single-handed if he had not been ordered 
by his master to lie still ; but never before in his 
life had Crusoe obeyed with such a bad grace. He 
bristled and whined in a low tremulous tone, and 
looked imploringly at Dick as if for permission to fly 
at them. 

“ The Pale-face traders are glad to meet with the 
Peigans,” began Cameron, who determined to make no 
allusion to his knowledge that they were a war party, 
“ for they wish to be friends with all the children of the 
woods and prairies. They wish to trade with them — to 
exchange blankets, and guns, and beads, and other goods 
which the Peigans require, for furs of animals which the 
Pale-faces require.” 

“ Ho I ho ! ” exclaimed the Indians, which expression 
might be translated, “ Hear ! hear ! ” 

“ But,” continued Cameron, “ we wish to have no war. 
We wish to see the hatchet buried, and to see all the red 
men and the white men smoking the pipe of peace, and 
hunting like brothers.” 

The “ ho-hoing ” at this was very emphatic. 

“Now,” resumed the trader, “the Peigans have got 


220 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


two prisoners — two Pale-faces — in their camp, and as we 
cannot be on good terms while our brothers are detained, 
we have come to for them, and to present some gifts 
to the Peigans.” 

To this there was no “ ho ” at all, but a prolonged 
silence, which was at length interrupted by a tall chief 
stepping forward to address the trappers. 

“ What the Pale-face chief has said is good,” began 
the Indian. “ His words are wise, and his heart is not 
double. The Red-men are willing to smoke the pipe of 
peace, and to hunt with all men as brothers, but they 
cannot do it while many of their scalps are hanging in 
the lodges of their enemies and fringing the robes of the 
warriors. The Peigans must have vengeance ; then they 
will make peace.” 

After a short pause he continued, — 

“ The chief is wrong when he says there are 
Pale-faces in the Peigan camp. The Peigans are not 
at war with the Pale-faces ; neither have they 
seen any on their march. The camp is open. Let 
the Pale-faces look round and see that what we say 
is true.” 

The chief waved his hand towards his warriors as he 
concluded, as if to say, “ Search amongst them. There 
are no Pale-faces there.” 

Cameron now spoke to Dick in a low tone. “ They 
speak confidently,” he said, “and I fear greatly that 
your poor comrades have either been killed or conveyed 
away from the camp and hidden among the mountains, 
in which case, even though they should not be far off, 
it would be next to impossible to find them, especially 
when such a band of rascals is near, compelling us to 
keep together. But I’ll try what a little tempting them 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 221 

with goods will do. At any rate, we shan’t give in without 
a scuffle.” 

It now, for the first time fiashed across Dick Varley 
that there was something more than he imagined in 
Crusoe’s restless anxiety, which had not in the least abated, 
and the idea of making use of him now occurred to his 
mind. 

“ I’ve a notion that I’ll settle this matter in a shorter 
time than you think,” he said hurriedly, “ if you’ll agree 
to try what threatening will do.” 

The trader looked grave and undecided. “ I never 
resort to that except as a last hope,” he answered ; but 
I’ve a good deal of confidence in your prudence. What 
would you advise ? ” 

Dick and the trader whispered a few minutes together, 
while some of the men, in order to show the Indians how 
perfectly unconcerned they were, and how ready for 
anything, took out their pipes and began to smoke. Both 
parties were seated on the ground, and during this interval 
the Indians also held eager discussion. 

At length Cameron stood up, and said to his men in 
a quiet tone, “ Be ready, lads, for instant action. When 
I give the word ‘ Up,’ spring to your feet and cock your 
guns ; but donH fire a shot till you get the word.'^ He 
then stepped forward and said, — 

“ The Peigan warriors are double-tongued ; they know 
that they have hid the Pale-face prisoners. We do not 
wish to quarrel, but if they are not delivered up 
at once the Pale-faces and the Peigans will not be 
friends.” 

Upon this the Indian chief again stood forward and 
said, “ The Peigans are not double-tongued. They have 
not seen Pale-faces till to-day. They can say no more.” 


222 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


Without moving hand or foot, Cameron then said in 
a firm tone, “ The first Peigan that moves shall die ! 
Up, lads, and ready ! ” 

In the twinkling of an eye the trappers sprang to their 
feet, and cocking their rifles stooding perfectly motionless, 
scowling at the savages, who were completely taken by 
surprise at the unusual suddenness and informality of 
such a declaration of war. Not a man moved, for, unlike 
white men, they seldom risk their lives in open fight ; 
and as they looked at the formidable row of muzzles that 
waited but a word to send instant death into their midst, 
they felt that discretion was at that time the better part 
of valour. 

“ Now,” said Cameron, while Dick Varley and Crusoe 
stepped up beside him, “ my young warrior will search 
for the Pale-face prisoners. If they are found, we will 
take them and go away. If they are not found, we will 
ask the Peigans to forgive us, and will give them gifts. 
But in the meantime, if a Peigan moves from the spot 
where he sits, or lifts a bow, my young men shall fire, 
and the Peigans know that the rifle of the Pale-face always 
kills.” 

Without waiting for an answer, Dick immediately 
said, “ Seek ’em out, pup,” and Crusoe bounded 
away. 

For a few minutes he sprang hither and thither through 
the camp, quite regardless of the Indians, and snuffed 
the air several times, whining in an excited tone, as if 
to relieve his feelings. Then he put his nose to the ground 
and ran straight forward into the woods. Dick immedi- 
ately bounded after him like a deer, while the trappers 
kept silent guard over the savages. 

For some time Crusoe ran straight forward. Then he 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


223 


came to a spot where there was a good deal of drifted 
snow on the ground. Here he seemed to lose the trail 
for a little, and ran about in all directions, whining in a 
most piteous tone. 

“ Seek ’em out, pup,” repeated Dick encouragingly, 
while his own breast heaved with excitement and 
expectation. 

In a few seconds the dog resumed his onward course 
and led the way into a wild, dark spot, which was so 
overshadowed by trees and precipitous cliffs that the 
light of the sun scarce found entrance. There were many 
huge masses of rock scattered over the ground, which 
had fallen from the cliffs. Behind one of these lay a 
mound of dried leaves, towards which Crusoe darted and 
commenced scraping violently. 

Trembling with dread that he should find this to be 
the grave of his murdered companions, Dick rushed forward 
and hastily cleared away the leaves. The first handful 
thrown off revealed part of the figure of a man. Dick’s 
heart beat audibly as he cleared the leaves from the face, 
and he uttered a suppressed cry on beholding the well- 
known features of Joe Blunt. But they were not those of 
a dead man. Joe’s eyes met his with a scowl of 
anger, which instantly gave place to one of intense 
surprise. 

“ Joe Blunt ! ” exclaimed Dick in a voice of intense 
amazement, while Crusoe snuffed round the heap of leaves 
and whined with excitement. But Joe did not move, 
neither did he speak a word in reply — for the very good 
reason that his mouth was tightly bound with a band of 
leather, his hands and feet were tied, and his whole body 
was secured in a rigid, immovable position by being 
bound to a pole of about his own length. 


224 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


In a moment Dick’s knife was out, bands and cords 
were severed, and Joe Blunt was free. 

“ Thank God ! ” exclaimed Joe with a deep, earnest 
sigh, the instant his lips were loosened, “ and thanks 
to you, lad ! ” he added, endeavouring to rise ; but his 
limbs had become so benumbed in consequence of the 
cords by which they had been compressed that for some 
time he could not move. 

“ I’ll rub ye, Joe ; I’ll soon rub ye into a right state,” 
said Dick, going down on his knees. 

“ No, no, lad ; look sharp and dig up Henri. He’s 
just beside me here.” 

Dick immediately rose, and pushing aside the heap of 
leaves, found Henri securely bound in the same fashion. 
But he could scarce refrain from laughing at the expression 
of that worthy’s face. Hearing the voices of Joe and 
Dick Varley in conversation, though unable to see their 
persons, he was filled with such unbounded amazement 
that his eyes, when uncovered, were found to be at their 
largest possible stretch, and as for the eyebrows, they 
were gone, utterly lost among the roots of his voluminous 
hair. 

“ Henri, friend, I knew I should find ye,” said Dick, 
cutting the thongs that bound him. “ Get up if ye can ; 
we haven’t much time to lose, an’ may hap we’ll have 
to fight afore we’re done wi’ the Redskins. Can ve 
rise?” 

Henri could do nothing but lie on his back and gasp, 
“ Eh ! possible ! mon fr^re ! Oh, non, non, not possible. 
Oui ! my broder Deek ! ” 

Here he attempted to rise, but being unable fell back 
again ; and the whole thing came so suddenly, and made 
so deep an impression on his impulsive mind, that he 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


225 


incontinently burst into tears ; then he burst into a 
long laugh. Suddenly he paused, and scrambling up to 
a sitting posture, looked earnestly into Dick’s face through 
his tearful eyes. 

“ Oh, non, non ! ” he exclaimed, stretching himself out 
at full length again, and closing his eyes ; “it are too 
goot to be true. I am dream. I vill vait till I am 
wake.” 

Dick roused him out of this resolute sleep, however, 
somewhat roughly. Meanwhile Joe had rubbed and 
kicked himself into a state of animation, exclaiming that 
he felt as if he wos walkin’ on a thousand needles and 
pins, and in a few minutes they were ready to accompany 
their overjoyed deliverer back to the Peigan camp. Crusoe 
testified his delight in various elephantine gambols round 
the persons of his old friends, who were not slow to ac- 
knowledge his services. 

“ They haven’t treated us overly well,” remarked Joe 
Blunt, as they strode through the underwood. 

“ Non, de rascale, vraiment, dey am villains. Oui ! 
How dey have talk, too, ’bout — oh-oo-ooo-wah ! — roastin’ 
us alive, an’ putting our scalp in de vigvam for de poopoose 
to play wid ! ” 

“ Well, niver mind, Henri ; we’ll be quits wi’ them 
now,” said Joe as they came in sight of the two bands, 
who remained in precisely the same position in which 
they had been left, except that one or two of the more 
reckless of the trappers had lit their pipes and taken to 
smoking, '^vithout, however, laying down their rifles or 
taking their eyes off the savages. 

A loud cheer greeted the arrival of the prisoners, and 
looks of considerable discomfort began to be evinced by 
the Indians. 

15 


226 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


“ Glad to see you, friends,” said Cameron, as they 
came up. 

“ Ve is ’appy ov de same,” replied Henri, swaggering 
up in the joviality of his heart, and seizing the trader’s 
hand in his own enormous fist. “ Shall ve go to work 
an’ slay dem all at vonce, or von at a time.? ’ 

“ We’ll consider that afterwards, my lad. Meantime go 
you to the rear and get a weapon of some sort.” 

“ Oui. Ah ! c’est charmant,” he cried, going with an 
immense flounder into the midst of the amused trappers, 
and slapping those next to him on the back. “ Give 
me veapon, do, mes amis — gun, pistol, anyting — cAnnon, 
if you have von.” 

Meanwhile Cameron and Joe spoke together for a few^ 
moments. 

“ You had goods with you, and horses, I believe, when 
you were captured,” said the former. 

“ Ay, that we had. Yonder stand the horses, under 
the pine-tree, along wi’ the rest o’ the Redskin troop ; 
an’ a hard time they’ve had o’t, as their bones may tell 
without speakin’. As for the goods,” he continued, 
glancing round the camp, “ I don’t know where — ah ! 
yes, there Hiey be in the old pack. I see, all safe.” 

Cameron now addressed the Indians. 

“ The Peigans,” he said, “ have not done well. Their 
hearts have not been true to the Pale-faces. Even now 
I could take your scalps where you sit, but white men 
do not like war, they do not like revenge. The Peigans 
may go free.” 

Considering the fewmess of their numbers, this was bold 
language to use towards the Indians ; but the boldest is 
generally the best policy on such occasions. Moreover, 
Cameron felt that, being armed -with rifles, while the 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 227 

Indians had only bows and arrows, the trappers had a 
great advantage over them. 

The Indian who had spoken before now rose and said 
he was sorry there should be any cause of difference 
between them, and added he was sorry for a great many 
more things besides, but he did not say he was sorry for 
having told a lie. 

“ But, before you go, you must deliver up tiie horses 
and goods belonging to these men,” said Cameron, 
pointing to Joe and Henri. 

This was agreed to. The horses were led out, the two 
little packs containing Joe’s goods were strapped upon 
them, and then the trappers turned to depart. The 
Indians did not move until they had mounted ; then 
they rose and advanced in a body to the edge of the wood 
to see the Pale-faces go away. Meanwhile Joe spoke a 
few words to Cameron, and the men were ordered to 
halt, while the former dismounted and led his horse 
towards the band of savages. 

“ Peigans,” he said, “ you know the object for which I 
came into this country was to make peace between you 
and the Pale-faces. I have often told you so when you 
would not listen, and when you told me that I had a 
double heart and told lies. You were wrong when you 
said this ; but I do not wonder, for you live among 
nations who do not fear God, and who think it right to 
lie. I now repeat to you what I said before. It would 
be good for the Red-men if they would make peace with 
the Pale-faces, and if they would make peace with each 
other. I will now convince you that I am in earnest, 
and have all along been speaking tiie truth.” 

Hereupon Joe Blunt opened his bundle of goods, and 
presented fully one-half of the gaudy and brilliant con- 


228 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


tents to the astonished Indians, who seemed quite taken 
aback by such generous treatment. The result of this 
was that the two parties separated with mutual ex- 
pressions of esteem and good-will. The Indians then 
returned to the forest, and the white men galloped back 
to their camp among the hills. 


CHAPTER XX. 


With the Fub Tbadbrs. 

long after the events related in the last chapter, 
^ our four friends — Dick, and Joe, and Henri, and 
Crusoe — agreed to become for a time members of 
Walter Cameron’s band of trappers. Joe joined because 
one of the objects which the traders had in view was 
similar to his own mission — namely, the promoting of 
peace among the various Indian tribes of the mountains 
and plains to the west. Joe, therefore, thought it a good 
opportunity of travelling with a band of men who could 
secure him a favourable hearing from the Indian tribes 
they might chance to meet with in the course of their 
wanderings. Besides, as the traders carried about a 
large supply of goods with them, he could easily replenish 
his own nearly exhausted pack by hunting wild animals 
and exchanging their skins for such articles as he might 
require. 

Dick joined because it afforded him an opportunity of 
seeing the wild, majestic scenery of the Rocky Mountains 
and shooting the big-horned sheep which abounded there, 
and the grizzly “ bars,” as Joe named them, or “ Caleb,” 


230 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


as they were more frequently styled by Henri and the 
other men. 

Henri joined because it was agreeable to the inclina- 
of his own rollicking, blundering, floundering, crashing 
disposition, and because he would have joined anything 
that had been joined by the other two. 

Crusoe’s reason for joining was single, simple, easy to 
be expressed, easy to be understood, and commendable. 
He joined because Dick did. 

The very day after the party left the encampment where 
Dick had shot the grizzly bear and the deer, he had the 
satisfaction of bringing down a splendid specimen of the 
big-horned sheep. It came suddenly out from a gofge of 
the mountain, and stood upon the giddy edge of a tre- 
mendous precipice, at a distance of about two hundred 
and fifty yards. 

You could not hit that,” said a trapper to Henri, who 
was rather fond of jeering him about his short-sightedness. 

“ Non ! ” cried Henri, who didn’t see the animal in the 
least ; “ say you dat ? ve shall see ; ” and he let fly with a 
promptitude that amazed his comrades, and with a result 
that drew from them peals of laughter. 

“ Why, you have missed the mountain ! 

“ Oh, non ! dat am eempossoble.” 

It was true, nevertheless, for his ball had been arrested 
in its flight by the stem of a tree not twenty yards before 
him. 

While the shot was yet ringing, and before the laugh 
above referred to had pealed forth, Dick Varley fired, 
and the animal, springing wildly into the air, fell down 
the precipice, and was almost dashed to pieces at their 
feet. 

This Rocky Mountain or big-horned sheep was a par- 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


231 


ticularly large and fine one, but being a patriarch of the 
flock was not well suited for food. It was considerably 
larger in size than the domestic sheep, and might be 
described as somewhat resembling a deer in the body and 
a ram in the head. Its horns were the chief point of 
interest to Dick ; and, truly, they were astounding. Their 
enormous size was out of all proportion to the animal’s body, 
and they curved backwards and downwards, and then, 
curled up again in a sharp point. These creatures fre- 
quent the inaccessible heights of the Rocky Mountains, 
and are difficult to approach. They have a great fondness 
for salt, and pay regular visits to the numerous caverns 
of these mountains, which are encrusted with a saline 
substance. 

Walter Cameron now changed his intention of proceed- 
ing to the eastward, as he found the country not so full 
of beaver at that particular spot as he had anticipated. 
He therefore turned towards the west, penetrated into 
the interior of the mountains, and took a considerable 
sweep through the lovely valleys on their western slopes. 

The expedition which this enterprising fur- trader was 
conducting was one of the first that ever penetrated these 
wild regions in search of furs. The ground over which 
they travelled was quite new to them, and having no 
guide they just moved about at haphazard, encamping 
on the margin of every stream or river on which signs of 
the presence of beaver were discovered, and setting their 
traps. 

Beaver skins at this time were worth 25s. a-piece in the 
markets of civilized lands, and in the Snake country, 
through which our friends were travelling, thousands of 
them were to be had from the Indians for trinkets and 
baubles that were scarce worth a farthing. A beaver 


232 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


skin could be procured from the Indians for a brass finger- 
ring or a penny looking-glass. Horses were also so 
numerous that one could be procured for an axe or a 
knife. 

Let not the reader, however, hastily conclude that the 
traders cheated the Indians in this traffic, though the 
profits were so enormous. The ring or the axe was indeed 
a trifle to the trader, but the beaver skin and the horse 
were equally trifles to the savage, who could procure as 
many of them as he chose with very little trouble, while 
the ring and the axe were in his estimation of priceless 
value. Besides, be it remembered, to carry that ring 
and that axe to the far-distant haunts of the Red-man cost 
the trader weeks and months of constant toil, trouble, 
anxiety, and, alas ! too frequently cost him his life. The 
state of trade is considerably modifled in these regions 
at the present day. It is not more justly conducted, for, 
in respect of the value of goods given for furs, it was justly 
conducted then^ but time and circumstances have tended 
more to equalize the relative values of articles of trade. 

The snow which had prematurely fallen had passed away, 
and the trappers now found themselves wandering about 
in a country so beautiful and a season so delightful that 
it would have seemed to them a perfect paradise but for 
the savage tribes who hovered about them, and kept 
them ever on the qui vive. 

They soon passed from the immediate embrace of 
stupendous heights and dark gorges to a land of sloping 
ridges, which divided the country into a hundred luxuriant 
vales, composed part of woodland and part of prairie. 
Through these, numerous rivers and streams flowed 
deviously, beautifying the Ij^dscape and enriching the 
land. There were also many lakes of all sizes, and these 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


233 


swarmed with fish, while in some of them were found the 
much-sought-after and highly-esteemed beaver. Salt 
springs and hot springs of various temperatures abounded 
here, and many of the latter were so hot that meat could 
be boiled in them. Salt existed in all directions in abun- 
dance and of good quality. A sulphurous spring was 
also discovered, bubbling out from the base of a per- 
pendicular rock three hundred feet high, the waters of 
which were dark-blue and tasted like gunpowder. In 
short, the land presented every variety of feature cal- 
culated to charm the imagination and delight the eye. 

It was a mysterious land, too ; for broad rivers burst in 
many places from the earth, flowed on for a short space, 
and then disappeared as if by magic into the earth from 
which they rose. Natural bridges spanned the torrents 
in many places, and some of these were so correctly formed 
that it was difficult to believe they had not been built by 
the hand of man. They often appeared opportunely to 
our trappers, and saved them the trouble and danger of 
fording rivers. Frequently the whole band would stop 
in silent wonder and awe as they listened to the rushing 
of waters under their feet, as if another world of streams, 
and rapids, and cataracts were Solving below the crust 
of earth on which they stood. Some considerable streams 
were likewise observed to gush from the faces of precipices, 
some twenty of thirty feet from their summits, while on 
the top no water was to be seen. 

Wild berries of all kinds were found in abundance, and 
wild vegetables, besides many nutritious roots. Among 
other fish, splendid salmon were found in the lakes and 
rivers, and animal life swarmed on hill and in dale. Woods 
and valleys, plains and ravine^, teemed with it. On every 
plain the red-deer grazed in herds by the banks of lake 


234 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


and stream. Wherever there were clusters of poplar and 
elder trees and saplings, the beaver was seen nibbling in- 
dustriously with his sharp teeth, and committing as much 
havoo in the forest as if he had been armed with the wood- 
man’s axe ; others sported in the eddies. Racoons sat in 
the tree-tops ; the marten, the black fox, and the wolf 
prowled in the woods in quest of prey ; mountain sheep 
and goats browsed on the rocky ridges ; and badgers 
peeped from their holes. 

Here, too, the wild horse sprang, snorting and dis- 
hevelled, from his mountain retreats, with flourishing 
mane and tail, spanking step, and questioning gaze, and 
thundered away over the plains and valleys, while the 
rooks echoed back his shrill neigh. The huge, heavy, 
ungainly elk, or moose-deer, trotted away from the travel- 
lers with speed equal to that of the mustang : elks seldom 
gallop ; their best speed is attained at the trot. Bears, 
too, black, and brown, and grizzly, roamed about every- 
where. 

So numerous were all these creatures that on one oc- 
casion the hunters of the party brought in six wild horses, 
three bears, four elks, and thirty red-deer, having shot 
them all a short distance ahead of the main body, and 
almost without diverging from the line of march. And 
this was a matter of everyday occurrence — as it had need 
to be, considering the number of mouths that had to be 
filled. 

The feathered tribes were not less numerous. Chief among 
these were eagles and vultures of uncommon size, the wild 
goose, wild duck, and the majestic swan. 

In the midst of such profusion the trappers spent a 
happy time of it, when not molested by the savages ; but 
they frequently lost a horse' or two in consequence of the 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


235 


expertneas of these thievish fellows. They often wandered, 
however, for days at a time without seeing an Indian, and 
at such times they enjoyed to the full the luxuries with 
which a bountiful God had blessed these romantic regions. 

Dick Varley was almost wild with delight. It was his 
first excursion into the remote wilderness ; he was young, 
healthy, strong, and romantic ; and it is a question whether 
his or his dog’s heart, or that of the noble wild horse he 
bestrode, bounded most with joy at the glorious sights and 
sounds and influences by which they were surrounded. 
It would have been perfection, had it not been for the 
frequent annoyance and alarms caused by the Indians. 

Alas ! alas ! that we who write and read about those 
wondrous scenes should have to condemn our own species 
as the most degraded of all the works of the Creator there ! 
Yet so it is. Man, exercising his reason and conscience 
in the path of love and duty which his Creator points out, 
is God’s noblest work ; but man, left to the freedom of 
his own fallen will, sinks morally lower than the beasts 
that perish. Well may every Christian wish and pray 
that the name and the gospel of the blessed Jesus may be 
sent speedily to the dark places of the earth ; for you may 
read of, and talk about, but you cannot conceive the fiendish 
wickedness and cruelty which causes tearless eyes to glare 
and maddened hearts to burst in the lands of the heathen. ' 

While we are on this subject, let us add (and our young 
readers will come to know it if they are spared to see many 
years) that civilization alone will never improve the heart. 
Let history speak, and it will tell you that deeds of darkest 
hue have been perpetrated in so-called civilized though 
pagan lands. Civilization is like the polish that beautifies 
inferior furniture, which water will wash off if it be but 
hot enough. Christianity resembles dye, which permeates 


236 THE DOG CRUSOE. 

every fibre of the fabric, and which nothing can 
eradicate. 

The success of the trappers in procuring beaver here was 
great. In all sorts of creeks and rivers they were found. 
One day they came to one of the curious rivers before 
mentioned, which burst suddenly out of a plain, flowed 
on for several miles, and then disappeared into the earth 
as suddenly as it had risen. Even in this strange place 
beaver were seen ; so the traps were set, and a hundred 
and fifty were caught at the first lift. 

The manner in which the party proceeded was as fol- 
lows : — They marched in a mass in groups or in a long 
line, according to the nature of the ground over which 
they travelled. The hunters of the party went forward 
a mile or two in advance, and scattered through the woods. 
After them came the advance-guard, being the bravest 
and most stalwart of the men, mounted on their best 
steeds, and with rifle in hand ; immediately behind 
followed the women and children, also mounted, and the 
pack-horses with the goods and camp equipage. Another 
band of trappers formed the rear-guard to this imposing 
cavalcade. There was no strict regimental order kept, but 
the people soon came to adopt the arrangements that 
were most convenient for all parties, and at length fell 
naturally into their places in the line of march. 

Joe Blunt usually was the foremost and always the most 
successful of the hunters. He was therefore seldom seen 
on the march except at the hour of starthig, and at night 
when he came back leading his horse, which always groaned 
under its heavy load of meat. Henri, being a hearty, 
jovial soul and fond of society, usually kept with the 
main body. As for Dick, he was everywhere at once — 
at least as much so as it is possible for human nature to 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


237 


be. His horse never wearied ; it seemed to delight in 
going at full speed ; no other horse in the troop could 
come near Charlie, and Dick indulged him by appearing 
now at the front, now at the rear, anon in the centre, and 
frequently nowhere — having gone off with Crusoe like a 
flash of lightning after a buffalo or a deer. Dick soon 
proved himself to be the best hunter of the party, and 
it was not long before he fulfllled his promise to Crusoe 
and decorated his neck with a collar of grizzly bear claws. 

Well, when the trappers came to a river where there were. 
signs of beaver they called a halt, and proceeded to select a 
safe and convenient spot, near wood and water, for a 
camp. Here the property of the band was securely piled 
in such a manner as to form a breastwork or slight forti- 
fication, and here Walter Cameron established head- 
quarters. This was always the post of danger, being 
exposed to sudden attack by prowling savages, who often 
dogged the footsteps of the party in their journey ings 
to see what they could steal. But Cameron was an old 
hand, and they found it difficult to escape his vigilant 
eye. 

From this point all the trappers were sent forth in small 
parties every morning in various directions, some on foot 
and some on horseback, according to the distances they 
had to go ; but they never went farther than twenty 
miles, as they had to return to camp every evening. 

Each trapper had ten steel traps allowed him. These he 
set every night, and visited every morning, sometimes 
oftener when practicable, selecting a spot in the stream 
where many trees had been cut down by beavers for the 
purpose of damming up the water. In some places as 
many as fifty tree stumps were seen in one spot, within the 
compass of half an acre, all cut through at about eighteen 


238 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


inches from the root. We may remark, in passing, that 
the beaver is very much like a gigantic water-rat, with 
this marked difference, that its tail is very broad and flat 
like a paddle. The said tail is a greatly-esteemed article 
of food, as, indeed, is the whole body at certain seasons 
of the year. The beaver’s fore legs are very small and 
short, and it uses its paws as hands to convey food to its 
mouth, sitting the while in an erect position on its hind 
legs and tail. Its fur is a dense coat of a grayish-coloured 
down, concealed by long coarse hair, which lies smooth, 
and is of a bright chestnut colour. Its teeth and jaws are 
of enormous power ; with them it can cut through the 
branch of a tree as thick as a walking-stick at one snap, 
and, as we have said, it gnaws through thick trees them- 
selves. 

As soon as a tree falls, the beavers set to work indus- 
triously to lop off the branches, which, as well as the smaller 
trunks, they cut into lengths, according to their weight 
and thickness. These are then dragged by main force to 
the waterside, launched, and floated to their destination, 
Beavers build their houses, or “ lodges,” under the banks 
of rivers and lakes, and always select those of such depth 
of water that there is no danger of their being frozen to 
the bottom. When such cannot be found, and they are 
compelled to build in small rivulets of insufficient depth, 
these clever little creatures dam up the waters until they 
are deep enough. The banks thrown up by them across 
rivulets for this purpose are of great strength, and would 
do credit to human engineers. Their lodges are built of 
sticks, mud, and stones, which form a compact mass ; this 
freezes solid in winter, ond defies the assaults of that 
housebreaker, the wolverine, an animal which is the 
beaver’s implacable foe. From this lodge, which is 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


239 


capable often of holding four old and six or eight young 
ones, a communication is maintained with the water below 
the ice, so that, should the wolverine succeed in breaking 
up the lodge, he finds the family “ not at home,” they 
having made good their retreat by the back-door. When 
man acts the part of housebreaker, however, he cunningly 
shuts the back-door first, by driving stakes through the 
ice, and thus stopping the passage. Then he enters, and, 
we almost regret to say, finds the family at home. We 
regret it, because the beaver is a gentle, peaceable, affec- 
tionate, hairy little creature, towards which one feels an 
irresistible tenderness. But to return from this long 
digression. 

Our trappers, having selected their several localities, set 
their traps in the water, so that when the beavers roamed 
about at night they put their feet into them, and were 
caught and drowned ; for although they can swim and dive 
admirably, they cannot live altogether under water. 

Thus the different parties proceeded ; and in the morn- 
ings the camp was a busy scene indeed, for then the whole 
were engaged in skinning the animals. The skins were 
always stretched, dried, folded up with the hair in the 
inside, and laid by ; and the flesh was used for food. 

But oftentimes the trappers had to go forth with the 
gun in one hand and their traps in the other, while they kept 
a sharp look-out on the bushes to guard against surprise. 
Despite their utmost efforts, a horse was occasionally stolen 
before their very eyes, and sometimes even an unfortunate 
trapper was murdered, and all his traps carried off. 

An event of this kind occurred soon after the party had 
gained the western slopes of the mountains. Three 
Iroquois Indians, who belonged to the band of trappers, 
were sent to a stream about ten miles off. Having reached 


240 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


their destination, they all entered the water to set their 
traps, foolishly neglecting the usual precaution of one 
remaining on the bank to protect the others. They had 
scarcely commenced operations when three arrows were 
discharged into their backs, and a party of Snake Indians 
rushed upon and slew them, carrying away their traps 
and horses and scalps. This was not known for several 
days, when, becoming anxious about their prolonged 
absence, Cameron sent out a party, which found their 
mangled bodies affording a loathsome banquet to the 
wolves and vultures. 

After this sad event, the trappers were more careful 
to go in larger parties, and keep watch. 

As long as beaver were taken in abundance, the camp 
remained stationary ; but whenever the beaver began to 
grow scarce, the camp was raised, and the party moved 
on to another valley. 

One day Dick Varley came galloping into camp with the 
news that there were several bears in a valley not far 
distant, which he was anxious not to disturb until a 
number of the trappers were collected together to go out 
and surround them. 

On receiving the information, Walter Cameron shook 
his head. 

“ We have other things to do, yomig man,” said he, 
“ than go a-hunting after bears. I’m just about making 
up my mind to send a party to search out the valley on the 
other side of the Blue Mountains yonder, and bring back 
word if there are beaver there ; for if not, I mean to strike 
away direct south. Now, if you’ve a mind to go with 
them, you’re welcome. I’ll warrant you’ll find enough 
_in the way of bear-hunting to satisfy you ; perhaps a 
little Indian hunting to boot, for if the Banattees get 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


241 


hold of your horses, you’ll have a long hunt before you 
find them again. Will you go ? ” 

“Ay, right gladly,” replied Dick. “When do we 
start ? ” 

“ This afternoon.” 

Dick went off at once to his own part of the camp to 
replenish his powder-horn and bullet-pouch, and wipe out 
his rifle. 

That evening the party, under command of a Canadian 
named Pierre, set out for the Blue Hills. They numbered 
twenty men, and expected to be absent three days, for 
they merely went to reconnoitre, not to trap. Neither 
Joe nor Henri was of this party, both having been out 
hunting when it was organized ; but Crusoe and Charlie 
were, of course. 

Pierre, although a brave and trusty man, was of a sour, 
angry disposition, and not a favourite with Dick ; but the 
latter resolved to enjoy himself, and disregard his sulky 
comrade. Being so well mounted, he not unfrequently shot 
far ahead of his companions, despite their warnings that he 
ran great risk by so doing. On one of these occasions he 
and Crusoe witnessed a very singular fight, which is 
worthy of record. 

Dick had felt a little wilder in spirit that morning than 
usual, and on coming to a pretty open plain he gave the 
rein to Charlie, and with an “ Adieu^ mes camarades,^^ he 
was out of sight in a few minutes. He rode on several 
miles in advance without checking speed, and then came 
to a wood where rapid motion was inconvenient ; so he 
pulled up, and, dismounting, tied Charlie to a tree, while 
he sauntered on a short way on foot. 

On coming to the edge of a small plain he observed two 
largo birds engaged in mortal conflict. Crusoe observed 
16 


242 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


them too, and would soon have put an end to the fight 
had Dick not checked him. Creeping as close to the 
belligerents as possible, he found that one was a wild 
turkey-cock, the other a white-headed eagle. These two 
stood with their heads down and all their feathers bristling 
for a moment ; then they dashed at each other, and struck 
fiercely with their spurs, as our domestic cocks do, but 
neither fell, and the fight was continued for about five 
minutes without apparent advantage on either side. 

Dick now observed that, from the uncertainty of its 
motions, the turkey-cock was blind, a discovery which 
caused a throb of compunction to enter his breast for 
standing and looking on, so he ran forward. The eagle 
saw him instantly, and tried to fly away, but was unable 
from exhaustion. 

“ At him, Crusoe ! cried Dick, whose sympathies all 
lay with the other bird. 

Crusoe went forward at a bound, and was met by a peck 
between the eyes that would have turned most dogs ; but 
Crusoe only winked, and the next moment the eagle’s 
career was ended. 

Dick found that the turkey-cock was quite blind, the 
eagle having thrust out both its eyes, so, in mercy, he put 
an end to its sufferings. 

The fight had evidently been a long and severe one, for 
the grass all round the spot, for about twenty yards, was 
beaten to the ground, and covered with the blood and 
feathers of the fierce combatants. 

Meditating on the fight which he had just witnessed, 
Dick returned towards the spot where he had left Charlie, 
when he suddenly missed Crusoe from his side. 

“ Hallo, Crusoe ! here, pup ! where are you ? ” he cried. 

The only answer to this was a sharp whizzing sound, and 



THE YOUNG HUNTER SPRANG THROUGH THE HUSHES TOWARDS HIS 
HORSE, AND WAS JUST IN TIME TO SAVE A HANATTEE 
INDIAN FROM HEING STRANGLE)!) HY THE DOG. 




THE DOG CRUSOE. 


243 


an arrow, passing close to his ear, quivered in a tree beyond. 
Almost at the same moment Crusoe’s angry roar was 
followed by a shriek from some one in fear or agony. 
Cocking his rifle, the young hunter sprang through the 
bushes towards his horse, and was just in time to save a 
Banattee Indian from being strangled by the dog. It had 
evidently scented out this fellow, and pinned him just 
as he was in the act of springing on the back of Charlie, 
for the halter was cut, and the savage lay on the ground 
close beside him. 

Dick called off the dog, and motioned to the Indian to 
rise, which he did so nimbly that it was quite evident he 
had sustained no injury beyond the laceration of his neck 
by Crusoe’s teeth, and the surprise. 

He was a tall strong Indian for the tribe to which he 
belonged, so Dick proceeded to secure him at once. Point- 
to his rifle and to the Indian’s breast, to show what he 
might expect if he attempted to escape, Dick ordered 
Crusoe to keep him steady in that position. 

The dog planted himself in front of the savage, who 
began to tremble for his scalp, and gazed up in his face 
with a look which, to say the least of it, was the reverse 
of amiable, while Dick went towards his horse for the 
purpose of procuring a piece of cord to tie him with. Tlie 
Indian naturally turned his head to see what was going 
to be done, but a peculiar gurgle in Crusoe’s throat made 
him turn it round again very smartly, and he did not 
venture thereafter to move a muscle. 

In a few seconds Dick returned with a piece of leather and 
tied his hands behind his back. While this was being done, 
the Indian glanced several times at his bow, which lay a 
few feet away, where it had fallen when the dog caught 
him ; but Crusoe seemed to understand him, for he favoured 


244 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


him with such an additional display of teeth, and such a 
low — apparently distant, almost, we might say, sub- 
terranean — rumble, that he resigned himself to his fate. 

His hands secured, a long line was attached to his neck 
with a running noose, so that if he ventured to run away 
the attempt would effect its own cure by producing stran- 
gulation. The other end of this line was given to Crusoe, 
who at the word of command marched him off, while Dick 
mounted Charlie and brought up the rear. 

Great was the laughter and merriment when this appari- 
tion met the eyes of the trappers ; but when they heard 
that he had attempted to shoot Dick their ire was raised, 
and a court-martial was held on the spot. 

“ Hang the reptile ! ” cried one. 

“ Burn him ! ” shouted another. 

“ No, no,” said a third ; “ don’t imitate them villains ; 
don’t be cruel. Let’s shoot him.” 

“ Shoot ’im,” cried Bierre. “ Oui, dat is de ting ; it 
too goot pour lui, mais it shall be dooed.” 

“ Don’t ye think, lads, it would be better to let the poor 
wretch off ? ” said Dick Varley ; “ he’d p’raps give a good 
account o’ us to his people.” 

There was a universal shout of contempt at this mild 
proposal. Unfortunately, few of the men sent on this 
exploring expedition were imbued with the peace-making 
spirit of their chief, and most of them seemed glad to have 
a chance of venting their hatred of the poor Indians on 
this unhappy wretch, who, although calm, looked sharply 
from one speaker to another, to gather hope, if possible, 
from the tones of their voices. 

Dick was resolved, at the risk of a quarrel with Pierre, to 
save the poor man’s life, and had made up his mind to 
insist on having him conducted to the camp to be tried by 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


246 


Cameron, when one of the men suggested that they should 
take the savage to the top of a hill about three miles 
farther on, and there hang him up on a tree as a warning 
to all his tribe. 

“ Agreed, agreed ! ” cried the men ; “ come on.” 

Dick, too, seemed to agree to this proposal, and hastily 
ordered Crusoe to run on ahead with the savage — an order 
which the dog obeyed so vigorously that, before the men 
had done laughing at him, he was a couple of hundred yards 
ahead of them. 

“ Take care that he don’t get off ! ” cried Dick, springing 
on Charlie and stretching out at a gallop. 

In a moment he was beside the Indian. Scraping to- 
gether the little of the Indian language he knew, he stooped 
down, and, cutting the thongs that bound him, said, — 

“ Go ! white men love the Indians.” 

The man cast on his deliverer one glance of surprise, and 
the next moment bounded aside into the bushes and was 
gone. 

A loud shout from the party behind showed that this act 
had been observed ; and Crusoe stood with the end of the 
line in his mouth, and an expression on his face that said, 
“ You’re absolutely incomprehensible, Dick ! It’s all 
right, I knoWy but to my feeble capacity it seems wrong.” 

“ Fat for you do dat ? ” shouted Pierre in a rage, as he 
came up with a menacing look. 

Dick confronted him. “ The prisoner was mine. I had 
a right to do with him as it liked me.” 

“ True, true,” cried several of the men who had begun 
to repent of their resolution, and were glad the savage 
was off. “ The lad’s right. Get along, Pierre.” 

“ You had no right, you vas wrong. Oui, et I have goot 
vill to give you one knock on de nose.” 


- 246 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


Dick looked Pierre in the face, as he said this, in a manner 
that cowed him. 

“ It is time,” he said quietly, pointing to the sun, “ to 
go on. Your bourgeois expects that time won’t be wasted.” 

Pierre muttered something in an angry tone, and wheeling 
round his horse, dashed forward at full gallop, followed by 
the rest of the men. 

The trappers encamped that night on the edge of a wide 
grassy plain, which offered such tempting food for the 
horses that Pierre resolved to forego his usual cautious 
plan of picketing them close to the camp, and set them 
loose on the plain, merely hobbling them to prevent their 
straying far. 

Dick remonstrated, but in vain. An insolent answer was 
all he got for his pains. He determined, however, to keep 
Charlie close beside hioe all night, and also made up his 
mind to keep a sharp lookout on the other horses. 

At supper he again remonstrated. 

“ No ’fraid,” said Pierre, whose pipe was beginning to 
improve his temper. “ The red reptiles no dare to come 
in open plain when de moon so clear.” 

“ Dun know that,” said a taciturn trapper, who seldom 
ventured a remark of any kind ; “ them varmints ’ud 
steal the two eyes out o’ you’ head when they set their 
hearts on’t.” 

“ Dat ar’ umposs’ble, for dey have no hearts,” said a 
half-breed ; “ dey have von hole vere de heart vas be.” 

This was received with a shout of laughter, in the midst 
of which an appalling yell was heard, and, as if by magic, 
four Indians were seen on the backs of four of the best 
horses, yelling like fiends, and driving all the other horses 
furiously before them over the plain ! 

How they got there was a complete mystery, but the men 


THE BOG CRUSOE. 


247 • 


did not wait to consider that point. Catching up their 
guns they sprang after them with the fury of madmen, and 
were quickly scattered far and wide. Dick ordered Crusoe 
to follow and help the men, and turned to spring on the 
back of Charlie ; but at that moment he observed an 
Indian’s head and shoulders rise above the grass, not fifty 
yards in advance from him, so without hesitation he darted 
forward, intendinst to pounce upon him. 

Well would it have been for Dick Varley had he at that 
time possessed a little more experience of the wiles and 
stratagems of the Banattees. The Snake nation is sub- 
divided into several tribes, of which those inhabiting the 
Rocky Mountains, called the Banattees, are the most 
perfidious. Indeed, they are confessedly the banditti of 
the hills, and respect neither friend or foe, but rob all who 
come in their way. 

Dick reached the spot where the Indian had disappeared 
in less than a minute, but no savage was to be seen. Think- 
ing he had crept ahead, he ran on a few yards farther, and 
darted about hither and thither, while his eye glanced from 
side to side. Suddenly a shout in the camp attracted his 
attention, and looking back he beheld the savage on 
Charlie’s back turning to fly. Next moment he was off 
and away far beyond the hope of recovery. Dick had 
left his rifle in the camp, otherwise the savage would have 
gone but a short way. As it was, Dick returned, and 
sitting down on a mound of grass, stared straight before 
him with a feeling akin to despair. Even Crusoe could 
not have helped him had he been there, for nothing on 
four legs, or on two, could keep pace with Charlie. 

The Banattee achieved this feat by adopting a strategem 
which invariably deceives those who are ignorant of their 
habits and tactics. When suddenly pursued the Banattee 


248 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


sinks into the grass, and, serpent-like, creeps along with 
wonderful rapidity, not from but towards his enemy, taking 
care, however, to avoid him, so that when the pursuer 
reaches the spot where the pursued is supposed to be hiding, 
he hears him shout a yell of defiance far away in the 
rear. 

It was thus that the Banattee eluded Dick and gained 
the camp almost as soon as the other reached the spot 
where he had disappeared. 

One by one the trappers came back weary, raging, and 
despairing. In a short time they all assembled, and soon 
began to reproach each other. Ere long one or two had a 
fight, which resulted in several bloody noses and black eyes, 
thus adding to the misery which, one would think, had been 
bad enough without such additions. At last they finished 
their suppers and their pipes, and then lay down to sleep 
under the trees till morning, when they arose in a particu- 
larly silent and sulky mood, rolled up their blankets, 
strapped their things on their shoulders, and began to 
trudge slowly back to the camp on foot. 


CHAPTER XXL 


Henri’s Gallant Deed. 


W E must now return to the camp where Walter 
Cameron still guarded the goods, and the men 
pursued their trapping avocations. 

Here seven of the horses had been killed in one night by 
wolves while grazing in a plain close to the camp, and 
on the night following a horse that had strayed was also 
torn to pieces and devoured. The prompt and daring 
manner in which this had been done convinced the trader 
that white wolves had unfortunately scented them out, 
and he set several traps in the hope of capturing them. 

White wolves are quite distinct from the ordinary wolves 
that prowl through woods and plains in large paeks. They 
are much larger, wdghing sometimes as much as a hundred 
and thirty pounds ; but they are comparatively scarce, and 
move about alone, or in small bands of three or four. 
Their strength is enormous, and they are so fierce that 
they do not hesitate, upon occasions, to attack man him- 
self. Their method of killing horses is very deliberate. 


260 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


Two wolves generally undertake the cold-blooded murder. 
They approach their victim with the most innocent-looking 
and frolicsome gambols, lying down and rolling about, and 
frisking presently, until the horse becomes a little ac- 
customed to them. Then one approaches right in front, 
the other in the rear, still frisking playfully, until they think 
themselves near enough, when they make a simultaneous 
rush. The wolf which approaches in rear is the true 
assailant ; the rush of the other is a mere feint. Then 
both fasten on the poor horse’s haunches, and never let 
go till the sinews are cut and he is rolling on his side. 

The horse makes comparatively little struggle in this 
deadly assault ; he seems paralyzed, and soon falls to rise 
no more. 

Cameron set his traps towards evening in a circle with a 
bait in the centre, and then retired to rest. Next morning 
he called Joe Blunt, and the two went ofE together. 

“ It is strange that these rascally white wolves should be 
so bold when the smaller kinds are so cowardly,” remarked 
Cameron, as they walked along. 

“ So ’tis,” replied Joe ; “ but I’ve seed them other chaps 
bold enough too in the prairie when they were m large 
packs and starvin’.” 

“ I believe the small wolves follow the big fellows, and 
help them to eat what they kill, though they generally sit 
round and look on at the killing.” 

“ Hist ! ” exclaimed Joe, cocking his gun ; “ there he 
is, an’ no mistake.” 

There he was undoubtedly — a wolf of the largest size, 
with one of his feet in the trap. He was a terrible-looking 
object, for, besides his immense size and naturally ferocious 
aspect, his white hair bristled on end and was all covered 
with streaks and spots of blood from his bloody jaws. In 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


251 


his ejBPorts to escape he had bitten the trap until he had 
broken his teeth and lacerated his gums, so that his ap- 
pearance was hideous in the extreme. And when the two 
men came up he struggled with all his might to fly at 
them. 

Cameron and Joe stood looking at him in a sort of 
wondering admiration. 

“ We’d better put a ball in him,” suggested Joe after a 
time. “ Mayhap the chain won’t stand sich tugs long.” 

“ True, Joe ; if it break, we might get an ugly nip 
before we killed him.” 

So saying Cameron fired into the wolf’s head and killed 
it. It was found, on examination, that four wolves had 
been in the traps, but the rest had escaped. Two of 
them, however, had gnawed off their paws and left them 
lying in the traps. 

After this the big wolves did not trouble them again. 
The same afternoon a bear-hunt was undertaken, which 
well-nigh cost one of the Iroquois his life. It happened 
thus : — 

While Cameron and Joe were away after the white 
wolves, Henri came floundering into camp tossing his 
arms like a maniac, and shouting that “ seven bars wos 
be down in de bush close by ! ” It chanced that this 
was an idle day with most of the men, so they all leaped 
on their horses, and taking guns and knives sallied forth 
to give battle to the bears. 

Arrived at the scene of action, they found the seven bears 
busily engaged in digging up roots, so the men separated 
in order to surround them, and then closed in. The place 
was partly open and partly covered with thick bushes into 
which a horseman could not penetrate. The moment the 
bears got wind of what was going forward they made ofi 


262 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


as fast as possible, and then commenced a scene of firing, 
galloping, and yelling that defies description. Four out 
of the seven were shot before they gained the bushes ; 
the other three were wounded, but made good their re- 
treat. As their places of shelter, however, were like islands 
in the plain, they had no chance of escaping. 

The horsemen now dismounted and dashed recklessly 
into the bushes, where they soon discovered and killed 
two of the bears ; the third was not found for some time. 
At last an Iroquois came upon it so suddenly that he 
had not time to point his gun before the bear sprang 
upon him and struck him to the earth, where it held 
him down. 

Instantly the place was surrounded by eager men ; but 
the bushes were so thick, and the fallen trees among which 
the bear stood were so numerous, that they could not use 
their guns without running the risk of shooting their 
companion. Most of them drew their knives and seemed 
about to rush on the bear with these ; but the monster’s 
aspect, as it glared around, was so terrible that they held 
back for a moment in hesitation. 

At this moment Henri, who had been at some distance 
engaged in the killing of one of the other bears, came 
rushing forward after his own peculiar manner. 

“ Ah ! fat is eet — hay ? de bar no go under yit ? ” 

Just then his eye fell on the wounded Iroquois with the 
bear above him, and he uttered a yell so intense in tone 
that the bear himself seemed to feel that something decisive 
was about to be done at last. Henri did not pause, but 
with a flying dash he sprang like a spread eagle, arms and 
legs extended, right into the bear’s bosom. At the same 
moment he sent his long hunting-knife down into its 
heart. But Bruin is proverbially hard to kill, and al- 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


253 


through mortally wounded, he had strength enough to open 
his jaws and close them on Henri’s neck. 

There was a cry of horror, and at the same moment a 
volley was fired at the bear’s head ; for the trappers felt 
that it was better to risk shooting their comrades than see 
them killed before their eyes. Fortunately the bullets 
took effect, and tumbled him over at once without doing 
damage to either of the men, although several of the 
balls just grazed Henri’s temple and carried off his cap. 

Although uninjured by the shot, the poor Iroquois had 
not escaped scathless from the paw of the bear. His 
scalp was torn almost off, and hung down over his eyes, 
while blood streamed down his face. He was conveyed 
by his comrades to the camp, where he lay two days in 
a state of insensibility, at the end of which time he revived 
and recovered daily. Afterwards when the camp moved 
he had to be carried ; but in the course of two months he 
was as well as ever, and quite as fond of bear-hunting. 

Among other trophies of this hunt there were two deer 
and a buffalo, which last had probably strayed from the 
herd. Four or five Iroquois were round this animal 
whetting their knives for the purpose of cutting it up 
when Henri passed, so he turned aside to watch them 
perform the operation, quite regardless of the fact that 
his neck and face were covered with blood which flowed from 
one or two small punctures made by the bear. 

The Indians began by taking off the skin, which certainly 
did not occupy them more than five minutes. Then they 
cut up the meat and made a pack of it, and cut out the 
tongue, which is somewhat troublesome, as that member 
requires to be cut out from under the jaw of the animal 
and not through the natural opening of the mouth. One 
of the fore legs was cut off at the knee joint, and this 


254 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


was used as a hammer with which to break the skull for 
the purpose of taking out the brains, these being used 
in the process of dressing and softening the animal’s skin. 
An axe would have been of advantage to break the skull, 
but in the hurry of rushing to the attack the Indians had 
forgotten their axes ; so they adopted the common fashion 
of using the buffalo’s hoof as a hammer, the shank being 
the handle. The whole operation of flaying, cutting up, 
and packing the meat did not occupy more than twenty 
minutes. Before leaving the ground these expert butchers 
treated themselves to a little of the marrow and warm liver 
in a raw state ! 

Cameron and Joe walked up to the group while they 
were indulging in this little feast. 

“Well, I’ve often seen that eaten, but I never could do 
it myself,” remarked the former. 

“ No ! ” cried Joe in surprise ; “ now that’s oncommon 
cur’us. I’ve lived on raw liver an’ marrow-bones for two 
or three days at a time, when we wos chased by the 
Camanchee Injuns an’ did’nt dare to make a fire ; an’ it’s 
raal good, it is. Won’t ye try it 71010 ? ” 

Cameron shook his head. 

“ No, thankee ; I’ll not refuse when I can’t help it, but 
until then I’ll remain in happy ignorance of how good 
it is.” 

“ Well, it is strange how some folk can’t abide anything 
in the meat way they han’t bin used to. D’ye know I’ve 
actually knowed men from the cities as wouldn’t eat a bit 
o’ horseflesh for love or money. Would ye believe 
it ?” 

“ I can well believe that, Joe, for I have met with such 
persons myself ; in fact, they are rather numerous. What 
are you chuckling at, Joe ? ” 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


265 


“ Chucklin’ ? If ye mean be that ‘ larfin into myself.’ 
it’s because I’m thinking o’ a chap as once corned out 
to the prairies.” 

“ Let us walk back to the camp, Joe, and you can tell 
me about him as we go along.” 

“ I think,” continued Joe, “ he corned from Washington, 
but I never could make out right whether he wos a Govern- 
ment man or not. Anyhow, he wos a pheelosopher — a 
natterlist I think he call his-self — ” 

“ A naturalist,” suggested Cameron. 

“ Ay, that wos more like it. Well, he wos about six 
feet two in his moccasins, an’ as thin as a ramrod,* an’ 
as blind as a bat — leastways he had weak eyes an’ wore 
green spectacles. He had on a gray shootin’ coat an’ 
trousers an’ vest an’ cap, with rid whiskers an’ a long 
nose as rid at the point as the whiskers wos. 

“ Well, this gentleman engaged me an’ another hunter to 
go a trip with him into the prairies, so ofif we sot one fine 
day on throe bosses, with our blankets at our backs — we 
was to depend on the rifle for victuals. At first I thought 
the natterlist one o’ the cruellest beggars as iver went on 
two long legs, for he used to go about everywhere pokin’ 
pins through all the beetles an’ flies an’ creepin’ things he 
could sot eyes on, an’ stuck them in a box. But he told 
me he corned here a-purpose to git as many o’ them as he 
could ; so says I, ‘ If that’s it. I’ll fill yer box in no time.’ 

“ ‘ Will ye ? ’ says he, quite pleased like. 

“ ‘ I will,’ says I, an’ galloped off to a place as wos filled 
wi’ all sorts o’ crawling things. So I sets to work, an’ when- 
ever I seed a thing crawlin’ I sot my fut on it an’ crushed it, 
an’ soon filled my breast pocket. I cotched a lot o’ 
butterflies too, an’ stuffed them into my shot-pouch, an’ 
went back in an hour or two an’ showed him the lot. He 


250 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


put on his green spectacles an* looked at them as if he’d 
seen a rattle-snake. 

“ ‘My good man,’ says he, ‘ you’ve crushed them all to 
pieces ! ’ 

“ ‘ They’ll taste as good for all that,’ says I ; for somehow 
I’d taken’t in me head that he’d heard o’ the way the 
Injuns make soup o’ the grasshoppers, an’ wos wanting 
to try his hand at a new dish ! 

“ He laughed when I said this, an* told me he wos 
collectin’ them to take home to be looked at. But that’s 
not wot I wos goin’ to tell ye about him,” continued Joe ; 
“ I was goin’ to tell ye how we made him eat horseflesh. 
He carried a revolver, too, this natterlist did, to load 
wi’ shot as small as dust a’most, an’ shoot little birds with. 
I’ve seed him miss birds only three feet away with it. 
An’ one day he drew it all of a suddent an’ let fly at a big 
bum-bee that wos passin’, yellin’ out that it wos the finest 
wot he had iver seed. He missed the bee, of course, 
’cause it wos a flyin’ shot, he said, but he sent the whole 
charge right into Martin’s back — Martin was my comrade’s 
name. By good luck Martin had on a thick leather coat, 
so the shot niver got the length o’ his skin. 

“ One day I noticed that the natterlist had stuffed small 
corks into the muzzles of all the six barrels of his revolver. 
I wondered what they wos for, but he wos al’ays doin’ sich 
queer things that I soon forgot it. ‘ Maybe,* thought I, 
jist before it went out o’ my mind — ‘ maybe he thinks 
that’ll stop the pistol from goin’ off by accident ;’ for ye 
must know he’d let it off three times the first day by 
accident, an’ well-nigh blowed off his leg the last time, 
only the shot lodged in the back o’ a big toad he’d jist 
stuffed into his breeches pocket. Well, soon after we shot 
a buffalo bull, so when it fell, off he jumps from his horse 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


257 


an’ runs up to it. So did I, for I wosn’t sure the beast 
was dead, an’ I had jist got up when it rose an’ rushed at 
the natterlist. 

“ ‘ Out o’ the way/ I yelled, for my rifle wos empty ; but 
he didn’t move, so I rushed for’ard an’ drew the pistol 
out o’ his belt and let fly in the bull’s ribs jist as it ran the 
poor man down. Martin came up that moment an’ put a 
ball through its heart, an’ then we went to pick up the 
natterlist. He came to in a little, an’ the flrst thing he 
said wos, ‘ Where’s my revolver ? ’ When I gave it to 
him he looked at it, an’ said with a solemcholy shake o’ 
the head, ‘ There’s a whole barrelful lost ! ’ It turned out 
that he had taken to usin’ the barrels for bottles to hold 
things in, but he forgot to draw the charges, so sure enough 
I had fired a charge o’ bum-bees an’ beetles an’ small 
shot into the buffalo ! 

“ But that’s not wot I wos goin’ to tell ye yit. We corned 
to a part o’ the plains where we wos well-nigh starved for 
want o’ game, an’ the natterlist got so thin that ye could 
a’most see through him, so I offered to kill my horse, an’ 
cut it up for meat ; but you niver saw sich a face he made. 

‘ I’d rather die first,’ says he, ‘ than eat it ; ’ so we didn’t 
kill it. But that very day Martin got a shot at a wild 
horse an* killed it. The natterlist wos down in the bed 
o’ a creek at the time gropin’ for creepers, an’ he didn’t 
see it. 

“ ‘ He’ll niver eat it,’ says Martin. 

“ ‘ That’s true,’ says I. 

“ ‘ Let’s tell him it’s a buffalo,’ says he, 

“ ‘ That would be tellin’ a lie,’ says I, 

“ So we stood lookin’ at each other, not knowin’ what 
to do. 

“ ‘ I’ll tell ye what,’ cries Martin ; ‘ we’ll cut it up, and 

17 


258 THE DOG CRUSOE. 

take the meat into camp an * cook it without sayirC a 
word, 

“ ‘ Done,* says I, ‘ that’s it ; * for ye must know the poor 
critter wos no judge o’ meat. He couldn’t tell one kind 
from another, an’ he niver axed questions. In fact he 
niver a’most spoke to us all the trip. Well, we cut up the 
horse, an’ carried the flesh an’ marrow-bones into camp, 
takin’ care to leave the hoofs an* skin behind, an* sot to 
work an* roasted steaks an* marrow-bones. 

“ When the natter-list came back ye should ha* seen 
the joyful face he put on when he smelt the grub, for he 
wos all but starved out, poor critter. 

“ ‘ What have we got here ? * cried he, rubbin* his hands 
’an sittin’ down. 

“ ‘ Steaks an’ marrow-bones,* says Martin. 

“ ‘ Capital ! * says he. ‘ I’m so hungry.’ 

“ So he fell to work like a wolf. I niver seed a man pitch 
into anything like that natterlist did into that horse-flesh. 

“ ‘ These are first-rate marrow-bones,’ says he, squintin’ 
with one eye down the shin-bone o* the hind leg to see if it 
wos quite empty. 

“ ‘ Yes, sir, they is,* answered Martin, as grave as a 
judge. 

“ ‘ Take another, sir,’ says I. 

“ ‘ No, thankee,* says he with a sigh, for he didn’t like 
to leave off. 

“ Well, we lived for a week on horseflesh, an* first-rate 
livin’ it wos ; then we fell in with buffalo, an’ niver ran 
short again till we got to the settlements, when he paid us 
our money an’ shook hands, sayin’ we’d had a nice trip, 
an* he wished us well. Jist as we wos partin’ I said, says I, 

‘ D’ye know wot it wos we lived on for a week arter we wos 
well-nigh starved in the prairies ? ’ 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


259 


What, says he, ‘ when we got yon capital marrow- 
bones ? ’ 

The same,* says I. ‘ Yon wos 4or<seflesh,’ says I ; 
‘ an‘ I think ye’ll surely niver say again that it isn’t first- 
rate livin’.’ 

Ye’re jokin’,’ says he, turnin’ pale. 

“ ‘ It’s true, sir ; as true as ye’re standin’ there.’ 

“ Well, would ye believe it, he turned— that natterlist 
— as sick as a dog on the spot wot he wos standin’ on, 
an’ didn’t taste meat again for three days ! ” 

Shortly after the conclusion of Joe’s story, they reached 
the camp, and here they found the women and children 
flyhig about in a state of terror, and the few men who 
had been left in charge arming themselves in the greatest 
haste. 

“ Hallo ! something wrong here,” cried Cameron, hasten- 
ing forward, followed by Joe. “ What has happened, eh ? ” 
“Injuns cornin’, monsieur; look dere,” answered a 
trapper, pointing down the valley. 

“ Arm and mount at once, and come to the front of the 
camp,” cried Cameron in a tone of voice that silenced every 
other, and turned confusion into order. 

The cause of all this outcry was a cloud of dust seen far 
down the valley, which was raised by a band of mounted 
Indians who approached the camp at full speed. Their 
numbers could not be made out, but they were a sufficiently 
formidable band to cause much anxiety to Cameron, 
whose men, at the time, were scattered to the various 
trapping-grounds, and only ten chanced to be within call 
of the camp. However, with these ten he determined to 
show a bold front to the savages, whether they came as 
friends or foes. He therefore ordered the women and 
children within the citadel formed of the goods and packs 


260 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


of furs piled upon each other, which point of retreat was 
to be defended to the last extremity. Then galloping to 
the front he collected his men and swept down the valley 
at full speed. In a few minutes they were near enough 
to observe that the enemy only numbered four Indians, 
who were driving a band of about a hundred horses before 
them, and so busy were they in keeping the troop together 
that Cameron and his men were close upon them before 
they were observed. 

It was too late to escape. Joe Blunt and Henri had 
already swept round and cut off their retreat. In this ex- 
tremity the Indians slipped from the backs of their steeds 
and darted into the bushes, where they were safe from 
pursuit, at least on horseback, while the trappers got 
behind the horses and drove them towards the camp. 

At this moment one of the horses sprang ahead of the 
others and made for the mountain, with its mane and tail 
flying wildly in the breeze. 

“ Marrow-bones and buttons ! ” shouted one of the men ; 
“ there goes Dick Varley’s horse.” 

“So it am ! ” cried Henri, and dashed off in pursuit, 
followed by Joe and two others. 

“ Why, these are our own horses,” said Cameron in 
surprise, as they drove them into a corner of the hills 
from which they could not escape. 

This was true, but it was only half the truth, for, besides 
their own horses, they had secured upwards of seventy 
Indian steeds — a most acceptable addition to their stud, 
which, owing to casualties and wolves, had been dimin- 
ishing too much of late. The fact was that the Indians 
who had captured the horses belonging to Pierre and his 
party were a small band of robbers who had travelled, as 
was afterwards learned, a considerable distance from the 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


261 


south, stealing horses from various tribes as they went 
along. As we have seen, in an evil hour they fell in with 
Pierre’s party and carried off their steeds, which they drove 
to a pass leading from one valley to the other. Here they 
united them with the main band of their ill-gotten gains, 
and while the greater number of the robbers descended 
farther into the plains in search of more booty, four of 
them were sent into the mountains with the horses already 
procured. These four, utterly ignorant of the presence of 
white men in the valley, drove their charge, as we have 
seen, almost into the camp. 

Cameron immediately organized a party to go out in 
search of Pierre and his companions, about whose fate he 
became intensely anxious, and in the course of half an hour 
as many men as he could spare with safety were des- 
patched in the direction of the Blue Mountains* 


CHAPTER XXII. 


Life Among the Trappers, 

I T is one thing to chase a horse ; it is another thing to 
catch it. Little consideration and less sagacity are 
required to convince us of the truth of that fact. 
The reader may perhaps venture to think this rather a 
trifling fact. We are not so sure of that. In this world of 
fancies, to have any fact incontestably proved and estab- 
lished is a comfort, and whatever is a source of comfort to 
mankind is worthy of notice. Surely our reader won’t 
deny that. Perhaps he will, so we can only console 
ourself with the remark that there are people in this world 
who would deny anything — who would deny that there 
was a nose on their face if you said there was ! 

Well, to return to the point, which was the chase of a 
horse in the abstract ; from which we will rapidly diverge 
to the chase of Dick Varley’s horse in particular. This 
noble charger, having been ridden by savages until all his 
old fire and blood and mettle were worked up to a red heat, 
no sooner discovered that he was pursued than he gave a 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


263 


snort of defiance, which he accompanied with a frantic 
shake of his mane and a fiing of contempt in addition to a 
magnificent wave of his tail. Then he thundered up the 
valley at a pace which would speedily have left Joe Blunt 
and Henri out of sight behind if — ay ! that’s the word, 
if I What a word that if is ! what a world of ifs we live 
in ! There never was anything that wouldn’t have been 
something else if something hadn’t intervened to prevent 
it ! Yes, we repeat, Charlie would have left his two friends 
miles and miles behind in what is called “ no time,” if 
he had not run straight into a gorge which was surrounded 
by inaccessible precipices, and out of which there was no 
exit except by the entrance, which was immediately 
barred by Henri, while Joe advanced to catch the 
runaway. 

For two hours at least did Joe Blunt essay to catch 
Charlie, and during that space of time he utterly failed. 

The horse seemed to have made up his mind for what is 
vulgarly termed a “ lark.” 

“ It won’t do, Henri,” said Joe, advancing towards his 
companion, and wiping his forehead with the cuff of his 
leathern coat ; “I can’t catch him. The wind’s a’most 
blowed out o’ me body.” 

“ Dat am vexatiable,” replied Henri, in a tone of com- 
miseration. “ S’pose I wos make try ? ” 

“ In that case I s’pose ye would fail. But go ahead, 
an’ do what ye can. I’ll hold yer horse.” 

So Henri began by a rush and a fiourish of legs and 
arms that nearly frightened the horse out of his wits. 
For half an hour he went through all the complications 
of running and twisting of which he was capable, without 
success, when Joe Blunt suddenly uttered a stentorian 
yell that rooted him to the spot on which he stood. 


261 - 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


To account for this, we must explain that in the heights 
of the Rocky Mountains vast accumulations of snow take 
place among the crevices and gorges during winter. Such 
of these masses as form on steep slopes are loosened by 
occasional thaws, and are precipitated in the form of 
avalanches into the valleys below, carrying trees and 
stones along with them in their thundering descent. In 
the gloomy gorge where Dick’s horse had taken refuge 
the precipices were so steep that many avalanches had 
occurred, as was evident from the mounds of heaped 
snow that lay at the foot of most of them. Neither stones 
nor trees were carried down here, however, for the cliffs 
were nearly perpendicular, and the snow slipping over 
their edges had fallen on the grass below. Such an ava- 
lanche was now about to take place, and it was this 
that caused Joe to utter his cry of alarm and warn- 
ing. 

Henri and the horse were directly under the cliff over 
which it was about to be hurled, the latter close to the 
wall of rock, the other at some distance away from 
it. 

Joe cried again, “ Back, Henri ! back viie ! ” when 
the mass ihwed over and fell with a roar like prolonged 
thunder. Henri sprang back in time to save his life, 
though he was knocked down and almost stunned ; but 
poor Charlie was completely buried under the avalanche, 
which now presented the appearance of a hill of 
snow. 

The instant Henri recovered sufficiently, Joe and he 
mounted their horses and galloped back to the camp as 
fast as possible. 

Meanwhile another spectator stepped forward upon the 
scene they had left, and surveyed the snow hill with a 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


265 


critical eye. This was no less than a grizzly bear, which 
had, unobserved, been a spectator, and which immediately 
proceeded to dig into the mound, with the purpose, no 
doubt, of disentombing the carcass of the horse for pur- 
poses of his own. 

While he was thus actively engaged the two hunters 
reached the camp, where they found that Pierre and his 
party had just arrived. The men sent out in search of 
them had scarcely advanced a mile when they found them 
trudging back to the camp in a very disconsolate manner. 
But all their sorrows were put to flight on hearing of the 
curious way in which the horses had been returned to 
them with interest. 

Scarcely had Dick Varley, however, congratulated him- 
self on the recovery of his gallant steed, when he was 
thrown into despair by the sudden arrival of Joe 
with the tidings of the catastrophe we have just 
related. 

Of course there was a general rush to the rescue. Only 
a few men were ordered to remain to guard the camp, 
while the remainder mounted their horses and galloped 
towards the gorge where Charlie had been entombed. 
On arriving, they found that Bruin had worked with 
such laudable zeal that nothing but the tip of his tail 
was seen sticking out of the hole which he had dug. The 
hunters could not refrain from laughing as they sprang 
to the ground, and standing in a semicircle in front of 
the hole, prepared to fire. But Crusoe resolved to have 
the honour of leading the assault. He seized fast hold 
of Bruin’s flank, and caused his teeth to meet therein. 
Caleb backed out at once and turned round, but before 
he could recover from his surprise a dozen bullets pierced 
his heart and brain. 


266 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


“ Now, lads,” cried Cameron, setting to work with a 
large wooden shovel, “ work like niggers. If there’s any 
life left in the horse, it’ll soon be smothered out unless 
we set him free.” 

The men needed no urging, however. They worked 
as if their lives depended on their exertions. Dick Varley 
in particular, laboured like a young Hercules, and Henri 
hurled masses of snow about in a most surprising manner. 
Crusoe, too, entered heartily into the spirit of the work, 
and, scraping with his forepaws, sent such a continuous 
shower of snow behind him that he was speedily lost to 
view in a hole of his own excavating. In the course of 
half an hour a cavern was dug in the mound almost close 
up to the cliff, and the men were beginning to look about 
for the crushed body of Dick’s steed, when an exclamation 
from Henri attracted their attention. 

“ Ha ! mes ami, here am be one hole.” 

The truth of this could not be doubted, for the eccentric 
trapper had thrust his shovel through the wall of snow 
into what appeared to be a cavern beyond, and immedi- 
ately followed up his remark by thrusting in his head 
and shoulders. He drew them out in a few seconds, 
with a look of intense amazement. 

“Voil&/! Joe Blunt. Look in dere, and you shall see 
fat you vill behold.” 

“ Why it’s the horse, I do b’lieve ! ” cried Joe, “ Go 
ahead, lads ! ” 

So saying, he resumed his shovelling vigorously, and 
in a few minutes the hole was opened up sufficiently to 
enable a man to enter. Dick sprang in, and there stood 
Charlie close beside the cliff, looking as sedate and un- 
concerned as if all that had been going on had no reference 
to him whatever. 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


267 


The cause of this safety was simple enough. The 
precipice beside which he stood when the avalanche 
occurred overhung its base at that point considerably, 
so that when the snow descended a clear space of several 
feet wide was left all along its base. Here Charlie had 
remained in perfect comfort until his friends dug him out. 

Congratulating themselves not a little on having saved 
the charger and bagged a grizzly bear, the trappers re- 
mounted, and returned to the camp. 

For some time after this nothing worthy of particular 
note occurred. The trapping operations went on pros- 
perously and without interruption from the Indians, who 
seemed to have left the locality altogether. During this 
period, Dick, and Crusoe, and Charlie had many excursions 
together, and the silver rifle full many a time sent death 
to the heart of a bear, and elk, and buffalo ; while, in- 
directly, it sent joy to the heart of man, woman, and child 
in the camp, in the shape of juicy steaks and marrow- 
bones. Joe and Henri devoted themselves almost ex- 
clusively to trapping beaver, in which pursuit they were 
so successful that they speedily became wealthy men, 
according to backwood notions of wealth. With the 
beaver that they caught they purchased from Cameron’s 
store powder and shot enough for a long hunting expedition, 
and a couple of spare horses to carry their packs. They 
also purchased a large assortment of such goods and 
trinkets as would prove acceptable to Indians, and supplied 
themselves with new blankets, and a few pairs of strong 
moccasins, of which they stood much in need. 

Thus they went on from day to day, until symptoms 
of the approach of winter warned them that it was time 
to return to the Mustang Valley. About this time an 
event occurred which totally changed the aspect of affairs 


268 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


in these remote valleys of the Rocky Moimtains, and 
precipitated the departure of our four friends, Dick, Joe 
Henri, and Crusoe. This was the sudden arrival of a 
whole tribe of Indians. As their advent was somewhat 
remarkable, we shall devote to it the commencement of 
a new chapter. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


The Stampede. 

/^NE day Dick Varley was out on a solitary hunting 
expedition near the rocky gorge where his horse 
had received temporary burial a week or two before. 
Crusoe was with him, of course. Dick had tied Charlie 
to a tree, and was sunning himself on the edge of a cli£f, 
from the top of which he had a fine view of the valley 
and the rugged precipices that hemmed it in. 

Just in front of the spot on which he sat, the precipices 
on the opposite side of the gorge rose to a considerable 
height above him, so that their ragged outlines were 
drawn sharply across the clear sky. Dick was gazing 
in dreamy silence at the jutting rocks and dark caverns, 
and speculating on the probable number of bears that 
dwelt there, when a slight degree of restlessness on the 
part of Crusoe attracted him. 

“ What is’t, pup ? ” said he, la3dng his hand on the 
dog’s broad back. 

Crusoe looked the answer, “ I don’t know, Dick, but 


270 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


it’s something, you may depend upon it, else I would 
not have disturbed you.” 

Dick lifted his rifle from the ground, and laid it in the 
hollow of his left arm. 

“ There must be something in the wind,” remarked 
Dick. 

As wind is known to be composed of two distinct gases, 
Crusoe felt perfectly safe in replying “ Yes ” with his 
tail. Immediately after he added, “ Hallo ! did you 
hear that ? ” with his ears. 

Dick did hear it, and sprang hastily to his feet, as a 
sound like, yet unlike, distant thunder came faintly down 
upon the breeze. In a few seconds the sound increased 
to a roar in which were mingled the wild cries of men. 
Neither Dick nor Crusoe moved, for the sound came from 
behind the heights in front of them, and they felt that 
the only way to solve the question, “ What can the sounds 
be ? ” was to wait till the sounds should solve it 
themselves. 

Suddenly the muffled sounds gave place to the distinct 
bellowing of cattle, the clatter of innumerable hoofs, and 
the yells of savage men, while at the same moment the 
edges of the opposite cliffs became alive with Indians 
and buffaloes rushing about in frantic haste — the former 
almost mad with savage excitement, the latter with 
blind rage and terror. 

On reaching the edge of the dizzy precipice, the buffaloes 
turned abruptly and tossed their ponderous heads as they 
coursed along the edge. Yet a few of them, unable to 
check their headlong course, fell over, and were dashed 
to pieces on the rocks below. Such falls, Dick observed, 
were hailed with shouts of delight by the Indians, whose 
sole object evidently was to enjoy the sport of driving 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 271 

the terrified animals over the precipice. The wily savages 
had chosen their ground well for this purpose. 

The cliff immediately opposite to Dick Varley was a 
huge projection from the precipice that hemmed in the 
gorge, a species of cape or promontory several hundred 
yards wide at the base, and narrowing abruptly to a 
point. The sides of this wedged-shaped projection were 
quite perpendicular — indeed, in some places the top over- 
hung the base — and they were at least three hundred 
feet high. Broken and jagged rocks, of that peculiarly 
chaotic character which probably suggested the name 
to this part of the great American chain, projected from 
and were scattered all round the cliffs. Over these the 
Indians, whose numbers increased every moment, strove 
to drive the luckless herd of buffaloes that had chanced 
to fall in their way. The task was easy. The unsus- 
pecting animals, of which there were hundreds, rushed 
in a dense mass upon the cape referred to. On they came 
with irresistible impetuosity, bellowing furiously, while 
their hoofs thundered on the turf with the muffled con- 
tinous roar of a distant but mighty cataract, the Indians, 
meanwhile, urging them on by hideous yells and frantic 
gestures. 

The advance-guard came bounding madly to the edge 
of the precipice. Here they stopped short, and gazed 
affrighted at the gulf below. It was but for a moment. 
The irresistible momentum of the flying mass behind 
pushed them over. Down they came, absolutely a living 
cataract, upon the rocks below. Some struck on the 
projecting rocks in the descent, and their bodies were 
dashed almost to pieces, while their blood spurted out 
in showers. Others leaped from rock to rock with awful 
bounds, until, losing their foothold, they fell headlong ; 


272 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


while others descended sheer down into the sweltering 
mass that lay shattered at the base of the cliffs. 

Dick Varley and his dog remained rooted to the rock, 
as they gazed at the sickening sight, as if petrified. Scarce 
fifty of that noble herd of buffaloes escaped the awful 
leap, but they escaped only to fall before the arrows of 
their ruthless pursuers. Dick had often heard of this 
tendency of the Indians, where buffaloeswere very numerous, 
to drive them over precipices in mere wanton sport and 
cruelty, but he had never seen it until now, and the sight 
filled his soul with horror. It was not until the din and 
tumult of the perishing herd and the shrill yells of the 
Indians had almost died away that he turned to quit 
the spot. But the instant he did so another shout was 
raised. The savages had observed him, and were seen 
galloping along the cliffs towards the head of the gorge, 
with the obvious intention of gaining the other side and 
capturing him. Dick sprang on Charlie’s back, and the 
next instant was flying down the valley towards the 
camp. 

He did not, however, fear being overtaken, for the 
gorge could not be crossed, and the way round the head 
of it was long and rugged ; but he was anxious to alarm 
the camp as quickly as possible, so that they might have 
time to call in the more distant trappers, and make pre- 
parations for defence. 

“ Where away now, youngster ? ” inquired Cameron 
emerging from his tent as Dick, taking the brook that 
flowed in front at a flying leap, came crashing through 
the bushes into the midst of the fur-packs at full speed. 

“ Injuns ! ” ejaculated Dick, reining up, and vaulting 
out of the saddle. Hundreds of ’em. Fiends incarnate 
every one ! ” 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


273 


Are they near ? ” 

“ Yes ; an hour’ll bring them down on us. Are Joe 
and Henri far from the camp to-day ? ” 

“ At Ten-mile Creek,” replied Cameron, with an ex- 
pression of bitterness, as he caught up his gun and 
shouted to several men, who hurried upon seeing our hero 
burst into camp. 

“ Ten-mile Creek ! ” muttered Dick. “ I’ll bring ’em 
in, though,” he continued, glancing at several of the 
camp horses that grazed close at hand. 

In another moment he was on Charlie’s back, the line 
of one of the best horses was in his hand, and almost 
before Cameron knew what he was about he was flying 
down the valley like the wind. Charlie often stretched 
out at full speed to please his young master, but seldom 
had he been urged forward as he was upon this occasion. 
The led horse being light and wild, kept well up, and in 
a marvellously short space of time they were at Ten-mile 
Creek. 

“ Hallo, Dick, wot’s to do ? ” inquired Joe Blunt, who 
was up to his knees in the water setting a trap at the 
moment his friend galloped up. 

“ Injuns ! Where’s Henri ? ” demanded Dick. 

“ At the head o’ the dam there.” 

Dick was off in a moment, and almost instantly returned 
with Henri galloping beside him. 

No word was spoken. In time of action these men did not 
waste words. During Dick’s momentary absence, Joe 
Blunt had caught up his rifle and examined the priming, 
so that when Dick pulled up beside him he merely laid his 
hand on the saddle, saying, “ All right ! ” as he vaulted 
on Charlie’s back behind his young companion. In another 
moment they were away at full speed. The mustang 
18 


274 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


seemed to feel that unwonted exertions were required 
of him. Double weighted though he was, he kept well 
up with the other horse, and in less than two hours after 
Dick’s leaving the camp the three hunters came in sight of 
it. 

Meanwhile Cameron had collected nearly all his forces 
and put his camp in a state of defence before the Indians 
arrived, which they did suddenly, and, as usual, at full 
gallop, to the amount of at least two hundred. They 
did not at first seem disposed to hold friendly intercourse 
with the trappers, but assembled in a semicircle round 
the camp in a menacing attitude, while one of their chiefs 
stepped forward to hold a palaver. For some time the 
conversation on both sides was polite enough, but by 
degrees the Indian chief assumed an imperious tone, and 
demanded gifts from the trappers, taking care to enforce 
his request by hinting that thousands of his countrymen 
were not far distant. Cameron stoutly refused, and the 
palaver threatened to come to an abrupt and unpleasant 
termination just at the time that Dick and his friends 
appeared on the scene of action. 

The brook was cleared at a bound ; the three hunters 
leaped from their steeds and sprang to the front with a 
degree of energy that had a visible effect on the savages ; 
and Cameron, seizing the moment, proposed that the two 
parties should smoke a pipe and hold a council. The 
Indians agreed, and in a few minutes they were engaged 
in animated and friendly intercourse. The speeches were 
long, and the compliments paid on either side were in- 
flated, and, we fear, undeserved ; but the result of the 
interview was that Cameron made the Indians a present of 
tobacco and a few trinkets, and sent them back to their 
friends to tell them that he was willing to trade with them. 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


275 


Next day tlie whole tribe arrived in the valley, and 
pitched their deerskin tents on the plain opposite to the 
camp of the white men. Their numbers far exceeded 
Cameron’s expectation, and it was with some anxiety that 
he proceeded to strengthen his fortifications as much as 
circumstances and the nature of the ground would 
admit. 

The Indian camp, which numbered upwards of a thou- 
sand souls, was arranged with great regularity, and was 
divided into three distinct sections, each section being 
composed of a separate tribe. The Great Snake nation 
at that time embraced three tribes or divisions — namely, 
the Shirry-dikas, or dog-eaters ; the War-are-ree-kas, or 
fish-eaters ; and the Banattees, or robbers. These were the 
most numerous and powerful Indians on the west side of 
the Rocky Mountains. The Shirry-dikas dwelt in the 
plains, and hunted the buffaloes ; dressed well ; were 
cleanly ; rich in horses ; bold, independent, and good 
warriors. The War-are-ree-kas lived chiefiy by fishing, and 
were found on the banks of the rivers and lakes through- 
out the country. They were more corpulent, slovenly, and 
indolent than the Shirry-dikas, and more peaceful. The 
Banattees, as we have before mentioned, were the robbers 
of the mountains. They were a wild and contemptible 
race, and at enmity with everyone. In summer they 
went about nearly naked. In winter they clothed them- 
selves in the skins of rabbits and wolves. Being excellent 
mimics, they could imitate the howling of wolves, the 
neighing of horses, and the cries of birds, by which means 
they could approach travellers, rob them, and then fiy 
to their rocky fastnesses in the mountains, where pursuit 
was vain. 

Such were the men who now assembled in front of 


276 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


the camp of the fur-traders* and Cameron soon found 
that the news of his presence in the country had spread 
far and wide among the natives, bringing them to the 
neighbourhood of his camp in immense crowds, so that 
during the next few days their numbers increased to 
thousands. 

Several long palavers quickly ensued between the red 
men and the white, and the two great chiefs, who seemed 
to hold despotic rule over the assembled tribes, were ex- 
tremely favourable to the idea of universal peace which 
wa propounded to them. In several set speeches of 
great length and very considerable power, these natural 
orators explained their willingness to enter into amicable 
relations with all the surrounding nations, as well as with 
the white men. 

“ But,” said Pee-eye-em, the chief of the Shirry-dikas, 
a man above six feet high, and of immense muscular 
strength — “ but my tribe cannot answer for the Banattees, 
who are robbers and cannot be punished, because they 
dwell in scattered families among the mountains. The 
Banattees are bad ; they cannot be trusted.” 

None of the Banattees were present at the council when 
this was said ; and if they had been it would have mattered 
little, for they were neither fierce nor courageous, although 
bold enough in their haunts to murder and rob the unwary. 

The second chief did not quite agree with Pee-eye-em. 
He said that it was impossible for them to make peaee 
with their natural enemies, the Peigans and the Blackfeet, 
on the east side of the mountains. It was very desirable, 
he admitted, but neither of these tribes would consent 
to it, he felt sure. 

Upon this Joe Blunt rose and said, — 

“ The great chief of the War-are-ree-kas is wise, and 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


277 


knows that enemies cannot be reconciled unless deputies 
are sent to make proposals of peace. 

‘‘ The Pale-face does not know the Blackfeet,” answered 
the chief. “ Who will go into the lands of the Blackfeet ? 
My young men have been sent once and again, and their 
scalps are now fringes to the leggings of their enemies. 
The War-are-ree-kas do not cross the mountains but for 
the purpose of making war.” 

“ The chief speaks truth,” returned Joe ; “ yet there 
are three men round the council fire who will go to the 
Blackfeet and the Peigans with messages of peace from 
the Snakes if they wish it.” 

Joe pointed to himself, Henri, and Dick as he spoke, 
and added, — 

“ We three do not belong to the camp of the fur-traders ; 
we only lodge with them for a time. The Great Chief 
of the white men has sent us to make peace with the Red- 
men, and to tell them that he desires to trade with them 
— to exchange hatchets, and guns, and blankets for furs.” 

This declaration interested the two chiefs greatly, and 
after a good deal of discussion they agreed to take ad- 
vantage of Joe Blunt’s offer, and appoint him as deputy 
to the court of their enemies. Having arranged these 
matters to their satisfaction, Cameron bestowed a red 
flag and a blue surtout with brass buttons on each of 
the chiefs, and a variety of smaller articles on the other 
members of the council, and sent them away in a par- 
ticularly amiable frame of mind. 

Pee-eye-em burst the blue surtout at the shoulders and 
elbows in putting it on, as it was much too small for his 
gigantic frame ; but never having seen such an article 
of apparel before, he either regarded this as the natural 
and proper consequence of putting it on, or was totally 


278 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


indifferent to it, for he merely looked at the rents with 
a smile of satisfaction, while his squaw surreptitiously 
cut off the two back buttons and thrust them into her 
bosom. 

By the time the council closed night was far advanced, 
and a bright moon was shedding a flood of soft light over 
the picturesque and busy scene. 

“ I’ll go to the Injun camp,” said Joe to Walter Cameron, 
as the chiefs rose to depart. “ The season’s far enough 
advanced already. It’s time to be off ; and if I’m to 
speak for the Redskins in the Blackfeet Council, I’d need 
to know what to say.” 

“ Please yourself. Master Blunt,” answ^ered Cameron. 
“ I like your company and that of your friends, and 
if it suited you I would be glad to take you along with 
us to the coast of the Pacific ; but your mission among 
the Indians is a good one, and I’ll help it on all I can. 
I suppose you will go also ? ” he added, turning to Dick 
Varley, who was still seated beside the council fire 
caressing Crusoe. 

“ Wherever Joe goes, I go,” answered Dick. 

Crusoe’s tail, ears, and eyes demonstrated high ap- 
proval of the sentiment involved in this speech. 

“ And your friend Henri ?” 

“ He goes too,” answered Joe. “ It’s as well that the 
Redskins should see the three o’ us before we start for 
the east side o’ the mountains. Ho, Henri, come here, 
lad.” 

Henri obeyed, and in a few seconds the three friends 
crossed the brook to the Indian camp, and were guided 
to the principal lodge by Pee-eye-em. Here a great 
council was held, and the proposed attempt at negotiations 
for peace with their ancient enemies fully discussed. 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


279 


While they were thus engaged, and just as Pee-eye-em 
had, in the energy of an enthusiastic peroration, burst 
the blue surtout almost up to the collar, a distant rushing 
sound was heard, which caused every man to spring to 
his feet, run out of the tent, and seize his weapons. 

“ What can it be, Joe ? ” whispered Dick as they stood 
at the tent door leaning on their rifles and listening 
intently. 

“ Dun’no’,” answered Joe shortly. 

Most of the numerous fires of the camp had gone out, 
but the bright moon revealed the dusky form of thou- 
sands of Indians, whom the unwonted sound had startled, 
moving rapidly about. 

The mystery was soon explained. The Indian camp was 
pitched on an open plain of several miles in extent, which 
took a sudden bend half a mile distant, where a spur of the 
mountains shut out the farther end of the valley from 
view. From beyond this point the dull rumbling sound 
proceeded. Suddenly there was a roar as if a mighty 
cataract had been let loose upon the scene. At the same 
moment a countless herd of wild horses came thundering 
round the base of the mountain and swept over the plain 
straight towards the Indian camp. 

A stampede ! ” cried Joe, springing to the assistance of 
Pee-eye-em, whose favourite horses were picketed near the 
tent. 

On they came like a living torrent, and the thunder of a 
thousand hoofs was soon mingled with the howling of 
hundreds of dogs in the camp, and the yelling of Indians, as 
they vainly endeavoured to restrain the rising excitement 
of their steeds. Henri and Dick stood rooted to the ground, 
gazing in silent wonder at the fierce and uncontrollable 
gallop of the thousands of panic-stricken horses that bore 


280 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


down upon the camp with the tumultuous violence of a 
mighty cataract. 

As the maddened troop drew nigh, the camp horses 
began to snort and tremble violently, and when the rush 
of the wild steeds was almost upon them they became 
ungovernable with terror, broke their halters and hobbles, 
and dashed wildly about. To add to the confusion at that 
moment, a cloud passed over the moon and threw the whole 
scene into deep obscurity. Blind with terror, which 
was probably increased by the din of their own mad 
flight, the galloping troop came on, and with a sound like 
the continuous roar of thunder that for an instant drowned 
the yell of dog and man they burst upon the camp, tramp- 
ling over packs, and skins, and dried meats, etc., in their 
headlong speed, and overturning several of the smaller 
tents. In another moment they swept out upon the plain 
beyond, and were soon lost in the darkness of the night 
while the yelping of dogs, as they vainly pursued them, 
mingled and gradually died away with the distant thunder 
of their retreat. 

This was a stampede — one of the most extraordinary 
scenes that can be witnessed in the western wilder- 
ness. 

“ Lend a hand, Henri,” shouted Joe, who was struggling 
with a powerful horse. “ Wot’s come over yer brains, 
man ? This brute’ll git off if you don’t look sharp.” 

Dick and Henri both answered to the summons, and 
they succeeded in throwing the struggling animal on its 
side and holding it down until its excitement was some- 
what abated. Pee-eye-em had also been successful in 
securing his favourite hunter ; but nearly every other 
horse belonging to the camp had broken loose and joined 
the whirlwind gallop. But they gradually dropped out 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


281 


and before morning the most of them were secured by 
their owners. As there were at least two thousand horses 
and an equal number of dogs in the part of the Indian 
camp which had been thus overrun by the wild mustangs 
the turmoil, as may be imagined, was prodigious. Yet, 
strange to say, no accident of a serious nature occurred 
beyond the loss of several chargers. 

In the midst of this exciting scene there was one heart 
which beat with a nervous vehemence that well-nigh 
burst it. This was the heart of Dick Varley’s horse, 
Charlie. Well known to him was that distant rumbling 
sound that floated on the night air into the fur-traders’ 
camp, where he was picketed close to Cameron’s tent. 
Many a time had he heard the approach of such a wild 
troop, and often, in days not long gone by, had his shrill 
neigh rung out as he joined and led the panic-stricken 
band. He was first to hear the sound, and by his restive 
actions to draw the attention of the fur- traders to it. As a 
precautionary measure they all sprang up and stood by 
their horses to soothe them, but as a brook with a belt of 
bushes and a quarter of a mile of plain intervened between 
their camp and the mustangs as they flew past, they 
had little or no trouble in restraining them. Not so, 
however, with Charlie. At the very moment that his 
master was congratulating himself on the supposed security 
of his position, he wrenched the halter from the hand of 
him who held it, burst through the barrier of felled 
trees that had been thrown round the camp, cleared the 
brook at a bound, and with a wild hilarious neigh resumed 
his old place in the ranks of the free-bom mustangs of 
the prairie. 

Little did Dick think, when the flood of horses swept 
past him, that his own good steed was there, rejoicing 


282 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


in his recovered liberty. But Crusoe knew it. Ay, the 
wind had borne the information to his acute nose before 
the living storm burst upon the camp ; and when Charlie 
rushed past, with his long tough halter trailing at his 
heels, Crusoe sprang to his side, seized the end of the 
halter with his teeth, and galloped off along with him. 

It was a long gallop and a tough one, but Crusoe held 
on, for it was a settled principle in his mind never to give 
in. At first the check upon Charlie’s speed was im- 
perceptible, but by degrees the weight of the gigantic dog 
began to tell, and after a time they fell a little to the rear ; 
then by good fortune the troop passed through a mass 
of underwood, and the line getting entangled brought 
their mad career forcibly to a close ; the mustangs passed 
on, and the two friends were left to keep each other 
company in the dark. 

How long they would have remained thus is uncertain, 
for neither of them had sagacity enough to undo a com- 
plicated entanglement. Fortunately, however, in his 
energetic tugs at the line, Crusoe’s sharp teeth partially 
severed it, and a sudden start on the part of Charlie 
caused it to part. Before he could escape, Crusoe again 
seized the end of it, and led him slowly but steadily back 
to the Indian camp, never halting or turning aside until 
he had placed the line in Dick Varley’s hand. 

“ Hallo, pup ! where have ye bin ? How did ye 
bring him here ? ” exclaimed Dick, as he gazed in amaze- 
ment at his foam-covered horse. 

Crusoe wagged his tail, as if to say, “ Be thankful that 
you’ve got him, Dick, my boy, and don’t ask questions 
that you know I can’t answer.” 

“ He must ha’ broke loose and jined the stampede,” 
remarked Joe, coming out of the chief’s tent at the 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


283 


moment ; “ but tie him up, Dick, and come in, for we 
want to settle about starting to-morrow or nixt day.” 

Having fastened Charlie to a stake, and ordered Crusoe 
to watch him, Dick re-entered the tent where the council 
had re-assembled, and where Pee-eye-em — having, in the 
recent struggle, split the blue surtout completely up to 
the collar, so that his backbone was visible throughout 
the greater part of its length — was holding forth in 
eloquent strains on the subject of peace in general and 
peace with the Blackfeet, the ancient enemies of the 
Shirry-dikas, in particular. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


An Accident and its Result. 

/^N the following day the Indians gave themselves up 
to unlimited feasting, in consequence of the arrival 
of a large body of hunters with an immense supply 
of buffalo meat. It was a regular day of rejoicing. 
Upwards of six hundred buffaloes had been killed, and 
as the supply of meat before their arrival had been ample, 
the camp was now overflowing with plenty. Feasts were 
given by the chiefs, and the medicine men went about 
the camp uttering loud cries, which were meant to ex- 
press gratitude to the Great Spirit for the bountiful supply 
of food. They also carried a portion of meat to the aged 
and infirm who were unable to hunt for themselves, 
and had no young men in their family circle to hunt 
for them. 

This arrival of the hunters was a fortunate circum- 
stance, as it put the Indians in great good-humour, and 
inclined them to hold friendly intercourse with the trappers 
who for some time continued to drive a brisk trade in 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


285 


furs. Having no market for the disposal of their furs, 
the Indians of course had more than they knew what to 
do with, and were therefore glad to exchange those of 
the most beautiful and valuable kind for a mere trifle, 
so that the trappers laid aside their traps for a time and 
devoted themselves to traffic. 

Meanwhile Joe Blunt and his friends made preparations 
for their return journey. 

“ Ye see,” remarked Joe to Henri and Dick, as they 
sat beside the fire in Pee-eye-em’s lodge, and feasted on 
a potful of grasshopper soup, which the great chief’s 
squaw had just placed before them — “ ye see, my calc’la- 
tions is as follows. Wot with trappin’ beavers and 

huntin’, we three ha’ made enough to sot us up, an it 
likes us, in the Mustang Valley — ” 

“ Ha ! ” interrupted Dick, remitting for a few seconds 
the use of his teeth in order to exercise his tongue — “ ha ! 
Joe, but it don’t like me! What! give up a 

hunter’s life and become a farmer ? I should think 
not ! ” 

‘‘ Bon ! ” ejaculated Henri, but whether the remark had 
reference to the grasshopper soup or the sentiment we 
cannot tell. 

“ Well,” continued Joe, commencing to devour a large 
buffalo steak with a hunter’s appetite. “ ye’ll please 
yourselves, lads, as to that ; but as I wos sayin’, we’ve 

got a powerful lot o’ furs, an’ a big pack o’ odds and 

ends for the Injuns we chance to meet with by the way, 
an’ powder and lead to last us a twelvemonth, besides 
five good horses to carry us an’ our packs over the plains ; 
so if it’s agreeable to you, I mean to make a bee-line for the 
Mustang Valley. We’re pretty sure to meet with Black- 
feet on the way, and if we do we’ll try to make peace 


286 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


between them an’ the Snakes. I ’xpect it’ll be pretty 
well on for six weeks afore we git to home, so we’ll start 
to-morrow.” 

“ Dat is fat vill do ver’ veil,” said Henri ; “ vill you 
please donnez me one petit morsel of steak ? ” 

“ I’m ready for anything, Joe,” cried Dick ; “ you are 
leader. Just point the way, and I’ll answer for two o’ 
us followin’ ye — eh ! won’t we, Crusoe ? ” 

“ We will,” remarked the dog quietly. 

“ How comes it,” inquired Dick, “ that these Indians 
don’t care for our tobacco ? ” 

“ They like their own better, I s’pose,” answered Joe ; 
“ most all the western Injuns do. They make it o’ the 
dried leaves o’ the shumack and the inner bark o’ the 
red willow, chopped very small and mixed together. They 
call this stuff kinnekinnik ; but they like to mix about 
a fourth o’ our tobacco with it, so Pee-eye-em tells me, 
an’ he’s a good judge. The amount that red-skinned 
mortal smokes is oncommon.” 

“ What are they doin’ yonder ? ” inquired Dick, point- 
ing to a group of men who had been feasting for 
some time past in front of a tent within sight of our trio. 
“ Goin’ to sing, I think,” replied Joe. 

As he spoke six young warriors were seen to work 
their bodies about in a very remarkable way, and give 
utterance to still more remarkable sounds, which gradually 
increased until the singers burst out into that terrific 
yell, or war-whoop, for which American savages have 
long been famous. Its effect would have been appalling 
to unaccustomed ears. Then they allowed their voices 
to die away in soft, plaintive tones, while their action 
corresponded thereto. Suddenly the furious style was 
revived, and the men wrought themselves into a con- 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


287 


dition little short of madness, while their yells rang wildly 
through the camp. This was too much for the ordinary 
canine nature to withstand, so all the dogs in the neigh- 
bourhood joined in the horrible chorus. 

Crusoe had long since learned to treat the eccentricities 
of Indians and their curs with dignified contempt. He 
paid no attention to this serenade, but lay sleeping by 
the fire until Dick and his companions rose to take leave 
of their host and return to the camp of the fur- traders. 
The remainder of that night was spent in making pre- 
parations for setting forth on the morrow ; and when, 
at gray dawn, Dick and Crusoe lay down to snatch a 
hours’ repose, the yells and howling in the Snake camp 
were going on as vigorously as ever. 

The sun had arisen, and his beams were just tipping 
the summits of the Rocky Mountains, causing the snowy 
peaks to glitter like fiame, and the deep ravines and 
gorges to look sombre and mysterious by contrast, when 
Dick and Joe and Henri mounted their gallant steeds 
and, with Crusoe gambolling before, and the two pack 
horses trotting by their side, turned their faces eastward, 
and bade adieu to the Indian camp. 

Crusoe was in great spirits. He was perfectly well 
aware that he and his companions were on their way 
home, and testified his satisfaction by bursts of scampering 
over the hills and valleys. Doubtless he thought of Dick 
Varley’s cottage, and of Dick’s mild, kind-hearted mother. 
Undoubtedly, too, he thought of his own mother. Fan, 
and felt a glow of filial affection as he did so. Of this 
we feel quite certain. He would have been unworthy 
the title of hero if he hadn’t. Perchance he thought of 
Grumps, but of this we are not quite so sure. We rather 
think, upon the whole, that he did. 


288 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


Dick, too, let his thoughts run away in the direction 
of home. Sweet word ! Those who have never left it 
cannot, by any effort of imagination, realize the full 
import of the word “ home.” Dick was a bold hunter ; 
but he was young, and this was his first long expedition. 
Oftentimes, when sleeping under the trees and gazing 
dreamily up through the branches at the stars, had he 
thought of home, until his longing heart began to yearn 
to return. He repelled such tender feelings, however, 
when they became too strong, deeming them unmanly, 
and sought to turn his mind to the excitements of the 
chase ; but latterly his efforts were in vain. He became 
thoroughly home-sick, and while admitting the fact 
to himself, he endeavoured to conceal it from his com- 
rades. He thought that he was successful in this 
attempt. Poor Dick Varley ! as yet he was sadly 
ignorant of human nature. Henri knew it, and Joe Blunt 
knew it. Even Crusoe knew that something was wrong 
with his master, although he could not exactly make 
out what it was. But Crusoe made memoranda in 
the note-book of his memory. He jotted down the 
peculiar phases of his master’s new disease with 
the care and minute exactness of a physician, and, we 
doubt not, ultimately added knowledge of the symptoms 
of home-sickness to his already well-filled stores of 
erudition. 

It was not till they had set out on their homeward 
journey that Dick Varley ’s spirits revived, and it was not 
till they reached the beautiful prairies on the eastern 
slopes of the Rocky Mountains, and galloped over the 
greensward towards the Mustang Valley, that Dick 
ventured to tell Joe Blunt what his feelings had 
been. 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


289 


“ D’ye know, Joe,” he said confidentially, reining up 
his gallant steed after a sharp gallop — “ d’ye know I’ve 
bin feelin’ awful low for some time past.” 

“ I know it, lad,” answered Joe, with a quiet smile, 
in which there was a dash of something that implied 
he knew more than he chose to express. 

Dick felt surprised, but he continued, “ I wonder what 
it could have bin. I never felt so before.” 

“ ’Twas home-sickness, boy,” returned Joe. 

“ How d’ye know that ? ” 

“ The same way as how I know most things — by ex- 
perience an’ obsarvation. I’ve bin home-sick myself 
once, but it was long, long agone.” 

Dick felt much relieved at this candid confession by 
such a bronzed veteran, and, the cords of sympathy 
having been struck, he opened up his heart at once, to 
the evident delight of Henri, who, among other curious 
partialities, was extremely fond of listening to and taking 
part in conversations that bordered on the metaphysical, 
and were hard to be understood. Most conversations 
that were not connected with eating and hunting were 
of this nature to Henri. 

“ Hom’-sik,” he cried, “ veech mean bein’ sik of horn’ ! 
Hah ! dat is fat I am always be, ven I goes hout on de 
expedition. Oui, vraiment.” 

“ I always packs up,” continued Joe, paying no at- 
tention to Henri’s remark — “ I always packs up an’ sots 
off for home when I gits home-sick. It’s the best cure ; 
an’ when hunters are young like you, Dick, it’s the only 
cure. I’ve knowed fellers a’most die o* home- 
sickness, an’ I’m told they do go under altogether 
sometimes.” 

“ Go onder ! ” exclaimed Henri ; “ oui, I vas all but 

19 


290 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


die myself ven I fust try to git away from horn*. If I 
have not git away, I not be here to-day.” 

Henri’s idea of home-sickness was so totally opposed 
to theirs that his comrades only laughed, and refrained 
from attempting to set him right. 

“ The fust time I wos took bad with it wos in a country 
somethin* like that,” said Joe, pointing to the wide stretch 
of undulating prairie, dotted with clusters of trees and 
meandering streamlets, that lay before them. “ I had 
bin out about two months, an* was makin* a good thing 
of it, for game wos plenty, when I began to think some- 
how more than usual o* home. My mother wos alive 
then.” 

Joe’s voice sank to a deep, solemn tone as he 
said this, and for a few minutes he rode on in 
silence. 

“ Well, it grew worse and worse. I dreamed o’ home 
all night an’ thought of it all day, till I began to shoot 
bad, an’ my comrades wos gittin’ tired o’ me ; so says 
I to them one night, says I, ‘ I give out, lads ; I’ll make 
tracks for the settlement to-morrow.’ They tried to 
laugh me out of it at first, but it wos no go, so I packed 
up, bid them good-day, an’ sot off alone on a trip o’ five 
hundred miles. The very first mile o’ the way back 
I began to mend, and before two days I wos all right 
again.” 

Joe was interrupted at this point by the sudden ap- 
pearance of a solitary horseman on the brow of an eminence 
not half a mile distant. The three friends instantly 
drove their pack-horses behind a clump of trees, but not 
in time to escape the vigilant eye of the Red-man, who 
uttered a loud shout, which brought up a band of his 
comrades at full gallop. 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 291 

“ Remember, Henri,” cried Joe Blunt, “ our errand 
is one of peace” 

The caution was needed, for in the confusion of the 
moment Henri was making preparation to sell his life 
as dearly as possible. Before another word could be 
uttered, they were surrounded by a troop of about twenty 
yelling Blackfeet Indians. They were, fortunately, not 
a war party, and, still more fortunately, they were peace- 
ably disposed, and listened to the preliminary address of 
Joe Blunt with exemplary patience ; after which the 
two parties encamped on the spot, the council fire was 
lighted, and every preparation made for a long palaver. 

We will not trouble the reader with the details of what 
what was said on this occasion. The party of Indians 
was a small one, and no chief of any importance was 
attached to it. Suffice it is to say that the pacific over- 
tures made by Joe were well received, the trifling 
gifts made thereafter were still better received, 
and they separated with mutual expressions of good 
will. 

Several other bands which were afterwards met with 
were equally friendly, and only one war party was seen. 
Joe’s quick eye observed it in time to enable them to 
retire unseen behind the shelter of some trees, where 
they remained until the Indian warriors were out of 
sight . 

The next party they met with, however, were more 
difficult to manage, and, unfortunately, blood was shed 
on both sides before our travellers escaped. 

It was at the close of a beautiful day that a war party 
of Blackfeet were seen riding along a ridge on the horizon. 
It chanced that the prairie at this place was almost 
destitute of trees or shrubs large enough to conceal the 


292 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


horses. By dashing down the grassy wave into the 
hollow between the two undulations, and dismounting, 
Joe hoped to elude the savages, so he gave the word ; 
but at the same moment a shout from the Indians told 
that they were discovered. 

“ Look sharp, lads ! throw down the packs on the 
highest point of the ridge,” cried Joe, undoing the lashings, 
seizing one of the bales of goods, and hurrying to the top 
of the undulation with it ; “we must keep them at 
arm’s length, boys — be alive ! War parties are not to 
be trusted.” 

Dick and Henri seconded Joe’s efforts so ably that 
in the course of two minutes the horses were unloaded, 
the packs piled in the form of a wall in front of a broken 
piece of ground, the horses picketed close beside them, 
and our three travellers peeping over the edge, with 
their rifles cocked, while the savages — about thirty in 
number — came sweeping down towards them. 

“ I’ll try to git them to palaver,” said Joe Blunt ; 
“ but keep yer eye on ’em, Dick, an’ if they behave ill, 
shoot the horse o’ the leadin’ chief. I’ll throw up my 
left hand as a signal. Mind, lad, don’t hit human flesh, 
till my second signal is given, and see that Henri don’t 
draw till I git back to ye.” 

So saying, Joe sprang lightly over the slight parapet 
of their little fortress, and ran swiftly out, unarmed, 
towards the Indians. In a few seconds he was close 
up with them, and in another moment was surrounded. 
At first the savages brandished their spears and rode round 
the solitary man, yelling like fiends, as if they wished 
to intimidate him ; but as Joe stood like a statue, with 
his arms crossed, and a grave expression of contempt 
on his countenance, they quickly desisted, and, drawing 



JOE THREW UT HIS HAND ; THERE WAS A LOUD REPORT AND THE 
KOHLE HORSE OF THE SAVAGE CHIEF LAY STRUGGLIXG 
IX DEATH AGOXY ON THE GROUXD. 



THE DOG CRUSOE. 293 

near, asked him where he came from, and what he was 
loing there. 

Joe’s story was soon told; but instead of replying, 
they began to shout vociferously, and evidently meant 
mischief. 

“ If the Blackfeet are afraid to speak to the Pale-face, 
he will go back to his braves,” said Joe, passing suddenly 
between two warriors and taking a few steps towards 
the camp. 

Instantly every bow was bent, and it seemed as if 
our bold hunter were about to be pierced by a score of 
arrows, when he turned round and cried, — 

“ The Blackfeet must not advance a single step. The 
first that moves his horse shall die. The second that 
moves himself shall die.” 

To this the Blackfeet chief replied scornfully, “ The 
Pale-face talks with a big mouth. We do not believe 
his words. The Snakes are liars ; we will make no peace 
with them.” 

While he was yet speaking, Joe threw up his 
hand ; there was a loud report, and the noble horse 
of the savage chief lay struggling in death agony on the 
ground. 

The use of the rifle, as we have before hinted, was 
little known at this period among the Indians of the far 
west, and many had never heard the dreaded report 
before, although all were aware, from hearsay, of its 
fatal power. The fall of the chief’s horse, therefore, 
quite paralyzed them for a few moments, and they had 
not recovered from their surprise when a second report 
was heard, a bullet whistled past, and a second horse 
fell. At the same moment there was a loud explosion 
in the camp of the Pale-faces, a white cloud enveloped 


294 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


it, and from the midst of this a loud shriek was heard, 
as Dick, Henri and Crusoe bounded over the packs with 
frantic gestures. 

At this the gaping savages wheeled their steeds 
round, the dismounted horsemen sprang on behind 
two of their comrades, and the whole band dashed 
away over the plains as if they were chased by evil 
spirits. 

Meanwhile Joe hastened towards his comrades in 
a state of great anxiety, for he knew at once that 
one of the powder-horns must have accidentally been 
blown up. 

“ No damage done, boys, I hope ? ” he cried on coming 
up. 

“ Damage ! ” cried Henri, holding his hands tight over 
his face. “ Oh ! oui, great damage — moche damage ; 
me two eyes be blowed out of dere holes.” 

“ Not quite so bad as that, I hope,” said Dick, who 
was very slightly singed, and forgot his own hurts in 
anxiety about his comrade. “ Let me see.” 

“ My eye ! ” exclaimed Joe Blunt, while a broad 
grin overspread his countenance, “ye’ve not improved 
yer looks, Henri.” 

This was true. The worthy hunter’s hair was singed 
to such an extent that his entire countenance presented 
the appearance of a universal frizzle. Fortunately the 
skin, although much blackened, was quite uninjured — a 
fact which, when he ascertained it beyond a doubt, 
afforded so much satisfaction to Henri that he capered 
about shouting with delight, as if some piece of good 
fortune had befallen him. 

The accident had happened in consequence of Henri 
having omitted to replace the stopper of his powder- 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


295 


hom ; and when, in his anxiety for Joe, he fired at random 
amongst the Indians, despite Dick’s entreaties to wait, 
a spark communicated with the powder-horn and blew 
him up. Dick and Crusoe were only a little singed, but 
the former was not disposed to quarrel with an accident 
which had sent their enemies so promptly to the right- 
about. 

This band followed them for some nights, in the 
hope of being able to steal their horses while 
they slept ; but they were not brave enough to venture 
a second time within range of the death-dealing 
rifle. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


Dangers of the Prairie. 


T here are periods in the life of almost all 
men when misfortunes seem to crowd upon 
them in rapid succession, when they escape 
from one danger only to encounter another, and when 
to use a well-known expression they succeed in leaping 
out of the frying-pan at the expense of plunging into 
the fire. 

So was it with our three friends upon this occasion. 
They were scarcely rid of the Blackfeet, who found them 
too watchful to be caught napping, when, about day- 
break one morning, they encountered a roving band 
of Camanchee Indians, who wore such a warlike 
aspect that Joe deemed it prudent to avoid them if 
possible. 

“ They don’t see us, yit, I guess,” said Joe, as he and 
his companions drove the horses into a hollow between 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


297 


the grassy waves of the prairie, “ an’ if we only can escape 
their sharp eyes till we’re in yonder clump o’ willows, 
we’re safe enough.” 

“But why don’t you ride up to them, Joe,” 
inquired Dick, “ and make peace between them 
and the Pale-faces, as you ha’ done with other 
bands ? ” 

“ Because it’s o’ no use to risk our scalps for the 
chance o’ makin’ peace wi’ a rovin’ war party. Keep 
yer head down, Henri ! If they git only a sight o’ 
the top o’ yer cap, they’ll be down on us like a breeze 
o’ wind.” 

“ Ha ! let dem come ! ” said Henri. 

“ They’ll come without askin’ yer leave,” remarked Joe 
dryly. 

Notwithstanding his defiant expression, Henri had 
sufficient prudence to induce him to bend his head and 
shoulders, and in a few minutes they reached the shelter 
of the willows unseen by the savages. At least so thought 
Henri ; Joe was not quite sure about it, and Dick 
hoped for the best. 

In the course of half an hour the last of the 
Camanchees was seen to hover for a second on the 
horizon like a speck of black against the sky, and then 
to disappear. 

Immediately the three hunters vaulted on their steeds 
and resumed their journey ; but before that evening closed 
they had sad evidence of the savage nature of the band 
from which they had escaped. On passing the brow of a 
slight eminence, Dick, who rode first, observed that Crusoe 
stopped and snuffed the breeze in an anxious, inquiring 
manner. 

“ What is’t, pup ? ” said Dick, drawing up, for 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


he knew that his faithful dog never gave a false 
alarm. 

Crusoe replied by a short, uncertain bark, and then 
bounding forward, disappeared behind a little wooded 
knoll. In another moment a long, dismal howl 
floated over the plains. There was a mystery about 
the dog’s conduct which, coupled with his melancholy 
cry, struck the travellers with a superstitious feeling 
of dread, as they sat looking at each other in 
surprise. 

“ Come, let’s clear it up,” cried Joe Blunt, shaking the 
reins of his steed, and galloping forward. A few strides 
brought them to the other side of the knoll, where, scat- 
tered upon the tom and bloody turf, they discovered 
the scalped and mangled remains of about twenty 
or thirty human beings. Their skulls had been cleft 
by the tomahawk and their breasts pierced by the 
scalping-knife, and from the position in which many of 
them lay it was evident that they had been slain while 
asleep. 

Joe’s brow flushed and his lips became tightly compressed 
as he muttered between his set teeth, “ Their skins are 
white.” 

A short examination sufficed to show that the men who 
had thus been barbarously murdered while they slept had 
been a band of trappers or hunters, but what their 
errand had been, or whence they came, they could not 
discover. 

Everything of value had been carried off, and all the 
scalps had been taken. Most of the bodies, although much 
mutilated, lay in a posture that led our hunters to believe 
they had been killed while asleep ; but one or two were cut 
almost to pieces, and from the blood-bespattered and 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


299 


trampled sward around, it seemed as if they had struggled 
long and fiercely for life. Whether or not any of the 
savages had been slain, it was impossible to tell ; for if 
such had been the case, their comrades, doubtless, had 
carried away their bodies. That they had been slaughtered 
by the party of Camanchees who had been seen at day- 
break was quite clear to Joe ; but his burning desire to 
revenge the death of the white men had to be stifled, as 
his party was so small. 

Long afterwards it was discovered that this was a band 
of trappers who, like those mentioned at the beginning of 
this volume, had set out to avenge the death of a comrade ; 
but God, who has retained the right of vengeance in His own 
hand, saw fit to frustrate their purpose by giving them into 
the hands of the savages whom they had set forth to 
slay. 

As it was impossible to bury so many bodies, the travel- 
lers resumed their journey, and left them to bleach there 
in the wilderness ; but they rode the whole of that day 
almost without uttering a word. 

Meanwhile the Camanchees, who had observed the trio, 
and had ridden away at first for the purpose of deceiving 
them into the belief that they had passed unobserved, 
doubled on their track, and took a long sweep in order to 
keep out of sight until they could approach under the 
shelter of a belt of woodland towards which the travellers 
now approached. 

The Indians adopted this course instead of the easier 
method of simply pursuing so weak a party, because the 
plains at this part were bordered by a long stretch of forest 
into which the hunters could have plunged, and rendered 
pursuit more difficult, if not almost useless. The detour 
thus taken was so extensive that the shades of 


300 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


evening were beginning to descend before they could 
put their plan into execution. The forest lay about a 
mile to the right of our hunters, like some dark mainland, 
of which the prairie was the sea and the scattered clumps 
of wood the islands. 

“ There’s no lack o’ game here,” said Dick Varley, point- 
ing to a herd of buffaloes which rose at their approach and 
fled away towards the wood. 

“I think we’ll ha’ thunder soon,” remarked Joe. “I 
never feel it onnatteral hot like this without lookin’ out 
for a plump.” 

“ Ha ! den ve better look hout for one goot tree to get 
b’low,” suggested Henri. “ Voil^ ! ” he added, pointing 
with his finger towards the plain ; “ dere am a lot of wild 
bosses.” 

A troop of about thirty wild horses appeared, as he 
spoke, on the brow of a ridge, and advanced slowly towards 
them. 

‘‘ Hist ! ” exclaimed Joe, reining up ; “ hold on, lads. 
Wild horses ! My rifle to a pop-gun there’s wilder men on 
t’other side o’ them.” 

“ What mean you, Joe ? ” inquired Dick, riding close 
up. 

“ D’ye see the little lumps on the shoulder o’ each 
horse ? ” said Joe. “ Them’s Injuns feel ; an’ if we 
don’t want to lose our scalps we’d better make for the 
forest.” 

Joe proved himself to be in earnest by wheeling round 
and making straight for the thick wood as fast as his horse 
could run. The others followed, driving the pack-horses 
before them. 

The effect of this sudden movement on the so-called 
“ wild horses ” was very remarkable, and to one un- 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


301 


acquainted with the habits of the Camanchee Indians must 
have appeared almost supernatural. In the twinkling of 
an eye every steed had a rider on its back, and before the 
hunters had taken five strides in the direction of the 
forest, the whole band were in hot pursuit, yelling like 
furies. 

The manner in which these Indians accomplish this feat is 
very singular, and implies great activity and strength of 
muscle on the part of the savages. 

The Camanchees are low in stature, and usually are rather 
corpulent. In their movements on foot they are heavy and 
ungraceful, and they are, on the whole, a slovenly and un- 
attractive race of men. But the instant they mount their 
horses they seem to be entirely changed, and surprise the 
spectator with the ease and elegance of their movements. 
Their great and distinctive peculiarity as horsemen is the 
power they have acquired of throwing themselves suddenly 
on either side of their horse’s body, and clinging on in such 
a way that no part of them is visible from the other side 
save the foot by which they cling. In this manner they 
approach their enemies at full gallop, and, without 
rising again to the saddle, discharge their arrows 
at them over the horses’ backs, or even under their 
necks. 

This apparently magical feat is accomplished by means of 
a halter of horse-hair, which is passed round under the neck 
of the horse, and both ends braided into the mane, on the 
withers, thus forming a loop which hangs under the 
neck and against the breast. This being caught by the 
hand makes a sling, into which the elbow falls, taking 
the weight of the body on the middle of the upper 
arm. Into this loop the rider drops suddenly and 
fearlessly, leaving his heel to hang over the horse’s 


302 


THE 



dte him to his seat 


back to ste^^.>)iim, and al 
when desired. 

By this stratagem the Indians had approached on the 
present occasion almost within rifle range before they were 
discovered, and it required the utmost speed of the hunters^ 
horses to enable them to avoid being overtaken. One of the 
Indians, who was better mounted than his fellows, gained on 
the fugitives so much that he came within arrow range, 
but reserved his shaft until they were close on the margin 
of the wood, when, being almost alongside of Henri, he 
fitted an arrow to his bow. Henri’s eye was upon 
him, however. Letting go the line of the pack- 
horse which he was leading, he threw forward his 
rifle ; but at the same moment the savage disappeared 
behind his horse, and an arrow whizzed past the hunter’s 
ear. 

Henri fired at the horse, which dropped instantly, hurling 
the astonished Camanchee upon the ground, where he lay for 
some time insensible. In a few seconds pursued and 
pursuers entered the wood, where both had to advance with 
caution, in order to avoid being swept off by the over- 
hanging branches of the trees. 

Meanwhile the sultry heat of which Joe had formeily 
spoken increased considerably, and a rumbling noise, as if 
of distant thunder, was heard ; but the flying hunters paid 
no attention to it, for the led horses gave them 
so much trouble, and retarded their flight so much, 
that the Indians were gradually and visibly gaining 
on them. 

“ We’ll ha’ to let the packs go,” said Joe, somewhat 
bitterly, as he looked over his shoulder. “ Our scalps’ll 
pay for’t, if we don’t.” 

Henri uttered a peculiar and significant hiss between 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 308 

his teeth, as he said, “ P’raps ve better stop and 
fight ! ” 

Dick said nothing, being resolved to do exactly 
what Joe Blunt bid him ; and Crusoe, for reasons best 
known to himself, also said nothing, but bounded 
along beside his master’s horse, casting an occasional 
glance upwards to catch any signal that might be 
given. 

They had passed over a considerable space of ground, and 
were forcing their way at the imminent hazard of their 
necks through a densely-clothed part of the wood, when 
the sound above referred to increased, attracting the 
attention of both parties. In a few seconds the air was 
filled with a steady and continuous rumbling sound, like 
the noise of a distant cataract. Pursuers and fugitives 
drew rein instinctively, and came to a dead stand ; while 
the rumbling increased to a roar, and evidently approached 
them rapidly, though as yet nothing to cause it could be 
seen, except that there was a dense, dark cloud over- 
spreading the sky to the southward. The air was 
oppressively still and hot. 

“ What can it be ? ” inquired Dick, looking at Joe, who 
was gazing with an expression of wonder, not unmixed 
with concern, at the southern sky. 

“ Dun’no’, boy. I’ve bin more in the woods than in the 
clearin’ in my day, but I niver heerd the likes o’ 
that.” 

“ It am like t’ondre,” said Henri ; “ mais it nevair do 
stop.” 

This was true. The sound was similar to continuous 
uninterrupted thunder. On it came with a magnificent 
roar that shook the very earth, and revealed itself at last 
in the shape of a mighty whirlwind. In a moment the 


304 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


distant woods bent before it, and fell like grass before 
the scythe. It was a whirling hurricane, accompanied 
by a deluge of rain such as none of the party had 
ever before witnessed. Steadily, fiercely, irresistibly 
it bore down upon them, while the crash of falling, 
snapping, and uprooting trees mingled with the dire 
artillery of that sweeping storm like the musketry on 
a battlefield. 

“ Follow me, lads ! ” shouted Joe, turning his horse and 
dashing at full speed towards a rocky eminence that offered 
shelter. But shelter was not needed. The storm was 
clearly defined. Its limits were as distinctly marked by its 
Creator as if it had been a living intelligence sent 
forth to put a belt of desolation round the world ; 
and, although the edge of devastation was not five 
hundred yards from the rock behind which the hunters 
were stationed, only a few drops of ice-cold rain fell 
upon them. 

It passed directly between the Camanchee Indians and 
their intended victims, placing between them a barrier 
which it would have taken days to cut through. The 
storm blew for an hour, then it travelled onward in its 
might, and was lost in the distance. Whence it came and 
whither it went none could tell, but far as the eye could 
see on either hand an avenue a quarter of a mile wide was 
cut through the forest, It had levelled everything with 
the dust ; the very grass was beaten flat ; the trees were 
tom, shivered, snapped across, and crushed ; and the earth 
itself in many places was ploughed up and furrowed with 
deep scars. The chaos was indescribable, and it is pro- 
bable that centuries will not quite obliterate the work of 
that single hour. 

While it lasted, Joe and his comrades remained speechless 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


305 


and awe-stricken. When it passed, no Indians were to be 
seen. So our hunters remounted their steeds, and with 
feelings of gratitude to God for having delivered them alike 
from savage foes and from the destructive power of the 
whirlwind, resumed their journey towards the Mustang 
Valley. 


20 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


Safe Home. 

O NE fine afternoon, a few weeks after the storm of 
which we have given an account in the last chapter, 
old Mrs. Varley was seated beside her own chimney 
comer in the little cottage by the lake, gazing at the 
glowing logs with the earnest expression of one whose 
thoughts were far away. Her kind face was paler than 
usual, and her hands rested idly on her knee, grasping 
the knitting-wires to which was attached a half-finished 
stocking. 

On a stool near to her sat young Marston, the 
lad to whom, on the day of the shooting-match, Dick 
Varley had given his old rifle. The boy had an anxious 
look about him, as he lifted his eyes from time to time 
to the widow’s face. 

“ Did ye say, my boy, that they were all killed ?” in- 
quired Mrs. Varley, awaking from her reverie with a deep 
sigh. 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


307 


“ Every one,” replied Marston. “ Jim Scraggs, 
who brought the news, said they wos all lying 
dead with their scalps ofl. They wos a party o’ white 
men.” 

Mrs. Varley sighed again, and her face assumed 
an expression of anxious pain as she thought 
of her son Dick being exposed to a similar fate. 
Mrs. Varley was not given to nervous fears, but 
as she listened to the boy’s recital of the slaugh- 
ter of a party of white men, news of which had 
just reached the valley, her heart sank, and she 
prayed inwardly to Him who is the husband of the 
widow that her dear one might be protected from the 
ruthless hand of the savage. 

After a short pause, during which young Marston fidgeted 
about and looked concerned, as if he had something to 
say which he would fain leave unsaid, Mrs. Varley 
continued, — 

“ Was it far off where the bloody deed was 
done ? ” 

“ Yes ; three weeks off, I believe. And Jim Scraggs said 
that he found a knife that looked like the one wot belonged 
to — to — ” the lad hesitated. 

“ To whom, my boy ? Why don’t ye go on ? ” 

“ To your son Dick.” 

The widow’s hands dropped by her side, and she would 
have fallen had not Marston caught her. 

“ 0 mother dear, don’t take on like that ! ” he cried, 
smoothing down the widow’s hair as her head rested on his 
breast. 

For some time Mrs. Varley suffered the boy to fondle 
her in silence, while her breast laboured with anxious 
dread. 


308 THE DOG CRUSOE. 

“ Tell me all,” she said at last, recovering a little. “ Did 
Jim see — Dick ? 

“ No,” answered the boy. “ He looked at all the bodies 
but did not find his ; so he sent me over here to tell ye 
that p’raps he’s escaped.” 

Mrs. Varley breathed more freely, and earnestly thanked 
God ; but her fears soon returned when she thought of his 
being a prisoner, and recalled the tales of terrible cruelty 
often related of the savages. 

While she was still engaged in closely questioning 
the lad, Jim Scraggs himself entered the cottage, and 
endeavoured in a gruff sort of way to reassure the 
widow. 

“ Ye see, mistress,” he said, “ Dick is an oncommon tough 
customer, an’ if he could only git fifty yards’ start, 
there’s not an Injun in the West as could git hold o’ 
him agin ; so don’t be takin’ on.” 

“ But what if he’s been taken prisoner ? ” said the 
widow. 

“ Ay, that’s jest wot I’ve corned about. Ye see it’s not 
onlikely he’s bin took ; so about thirty o’ the lads o’ the 
valley are ready jest now to start away and give the red 
riptiles chase, an’ I come to tell ye ; so keep up heart, 
mistress.” 

With this parting word of comfort, Jim withdrew, and 
Marston soon followed, leaving the widow to weep and 
pray in solitude. 

Meanwhile an animated scene was going on near the 
block-house. Here thirty of the young hunters of the 
Mustang Valley were assembled, actively engaged in supply- 
ing themselves with powder and lead, and tightening 
their girths, preparatory to setting out in pursuit of the 
Indians who had murdered the white men ; while hundreds 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


309 


of boys and girls, and not a few matrons, crowded round 
and listened to the conversation, and to the deep threats 
of vengeance that were uttered ever and anon by the 
younger men. 

Major Hope, too, was among them. The worthy major, 
unable to restrain his roving propensities, determined to 
revisit the Mustang Valley, and had arrived only two days 
before. 

Backwoodsmen’s preparations are usually of the shortest 
and simplest. In a few minutes the cavalcade was ready, 
and away they went towards the prairies, with the bold 
major at their head. But their journey was destined to 
come to an abrupt and unexpected close. A couple of 
hours’ gallop brought them to the edge of one of those 
open plains which sometimes break up the woodland near 
the verge of the great prairies. It stretched out like a 
green lake towards the horizon, on which, just as the band 
of horsemen reached it, the sun was descending in a blaze 
of glory. 

With a shout of enthusiasm, several of the younger 
members of the party sprang forward into the plain at a 
gallop ; but the shout was mingled with one of a different 
tone from the older men. 

Hist ! — hallo ! — hold on^ ye catamounts ! There’s 
Injuns ahead ! ” 

The whole band came to a sudden halt at this cry, 
and watched eagerly, and for some time in silence, the 
motions of a small party of horsemen who were seen 
in the far distance, like black specks on the golden 
sky. 

“ They come this way, I think,” said Major Hope, after 
gazing steadfastly at them for some minutes. 

Several of the old hands signified their assent to this 


310 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


suggestion by a grunt, although to unaccustomed eyes the 
objects in question looked more like crows than 
horsemen, and their motion was for some time scarcely 
perceptible. 

“ I sees pack-horses among them,” cried young 
Marston in an excited tone ; “an’ there’s three riders. 
But there’s som’thin’ else, only wot it be I can’t 
tell.” 

“ Ye’ve sharp eyes, younker,” remarked one of the men, 
“an’ I do b’lieve ye’re right.” 

Presently the horsemen approached, and soon there was a 
brisk fire of guessing as to who they could be. It was 
evident that the strangers observed the cavalcade of white 
men, and regarded them as friends, for they did not check 
the headlong speed at which they approached. In a few 
minutes they were clearly made out to be a party of three 
horsemen driving pack-horses before them, and some,- 
ihirC which some of the hunters guessed was a buffalo 
calf. 

Young Marston guessed too, but his guess was different. 
Moreover, it was uttered with a yell that would have done 
credit to the fiercest of all the savages. “ Crusoe ! ” he 
shouted, while at the same moment he brought his whip 
heavily down on the flank of his little horse, and sprang 
over the prairie like an arrow. 

One of the approaching horsemen was far ahead 
of his comrades, and seemed as if encircled with the 
flying and voluminous mane of his magnificent 
horse. 

“ Ha ! ho ! ” gasped Marston in a low tone to him 
self, as he flew along. “ Crusoe ! I’d know ye, dog, 
among a thousand ! A buffalo calf ! Ha ! git on with 
ye!” 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


311 


This last part of the remark was addressed to his horse, 
and was followed by a whack that increased the pace 
considerably. 

The space between two such riders was soon de- 
voured. 

“ Hallo ! Dick — Dick Varley ! 

“ Eh ! why, Marston, my boy ! ” 

The friends reined up so suddenly that one might have 
fancied they had met like the knights of old in the shock of 
mortal conflict. 

“ Is’t yerself, Dick Varley ? ” 

Dick held out his hand, and his eyes glistened, but he 
could not find words. 

Marston seized it, and pushing his horse close up, vaulted 
nimbly off and alighted on Charlie’s back behind his 
friend. 

“ Off ye go, Dick ! I’ll take ye to yer mother.” 

Without reply Dick shook the reins, and in another 
minute was in the midst of the hunters. 

To the numberless questions that were put to him he only 
waited to shout aloud, “ We’re all safe ! They’ll tell ye all 
about it,” he added, pointing to his comrades, who were 
now close at hand ; and then, dashing onward, made 
straight for home, with little Marston clinging to his waist 
like a monkey. 

Charlie was fresh, and so was Crusoe, so you may 
be sure it was not long before they all drew up 
opposite the door of the widow’s cottage. Before Dick 
could dismount, Marston had slipped off and was already 
in the kitchen. 

“ Here’s Dick, mother I ” 

The boy was an orphan, and loved the widow so much 
that he had come at last to call her mother. 


312 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


Before another word could be uttered, Dick Varley 
was in the room. Marston immediately stepped 
out and softly shut the door. Reader, we shall not 
open it. 

Having shut the door, as we have said, Marston ran down 
to the edge of the lake and yelled with delight, usually 
terminating each paroxysm with the Indian war-whoop, 
with which he was well acquainted. Then he danced, and 
then he sat down on a rock, and became suddenly aware 
that there were other hearts there, close beside him, as 
glad as his own. Another mother of the Mustang Valley 
was rejoicing over a long-lost son. 

Crusoe and his mother Fan were scampering round each 
other in a manner that evinced powerfully the strength 
of their mutual affection. 

Talk of holding converse ! Every hair on Crusoe’s body, 
every motion of his limbs, was eloquent with silent lan- 
guage. He gazed into his mother’s mild eyes as if he would 
read her inmost soul (supposing that she had one). He 
turned his head to every possible angle, and cocked his 
ears to every conceivable elevation, and rubbed his 
nose against Fan’s, and barked softly, in every 
imaginable degree of modulation, and varied these 
proceedings by bounding away at full speed over the 
rooks of the beach and in among the bushes and 
out again, but always circling round and round Fan, and 
keeping her in view. 

It was a sight worth seeing, and young Marston sat down 
on a rock, deliberately and enthusiastically, to gloat over 
it. But perhaps the most remarkable part of it has not 
yet been referred to. There was yet another heart there 
that was glad, exceeding glad that day. It was a little 
one, too, but it was big for the body that held it. Grumps 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


313 


was there, and all that Grumps did was to sit on his haunches 
and stare at Fan and Crusoe, and wag his tail as well as 
he could in so awkward a position. Grumps was evidently 
bewildered with delight, and had lost nearly all power to 
express it. Crusoe’s conduct towards him, too, was not 
calculated to clear his faculties. Every time he chanced 
to pass near Grumps in his elephantine gambols, he gave 
him a passing touch with his nose, which always knocked 
him head over heels ; whereat Grumps invariably got up 
quickly and wagged his tail with additional energy. 
Before the feelings of those canine friends were calmed they 
were all three ruffled into a state of comparative exhaustion. 

Then young Marston called Crusoe to him ; and Crusoe, 
obedient to the voice of friendship, went. 

“ Are you happy, my dog ? ” 

“ You’re a stupid fellow to ask such a question ; however, 
it’s an amiable one. Yes, I am.” 

“ What do you want, ye small bundle o’ hair ? ” 

This was addressed to Grumps, who came forward 
innocently, and sat down to listen to the con- 
versation. 

On being thus sternly questioned the little dog put 
down its ears flat, and hung its head, looking up at 
the same time with a deprecatory look, as if to say, 
“ Oh dear, I beg pardon. I — I only want to sit near 
Crusoe, please ; but if you wish it. I’ll go away, sad 
and lonely, with my tail very much between my legs ; 
indeed I will, only say the word, but — but I’d rather stay 
if I might.” 

“ Poor bundle ! ” said Marston, patting its head ; “ you 
can stay then. Hooray ! — Crusoe, are you happy, I say ? 
Does your heart bound in you like a cannon ball that wants 
to find its way out, and can’t, eh ? ” 


314 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


Crusoe put his snout against Marston’s cheek, and in the 
excess of his joy the lad threw his arms round the dog’s 
neck and hugged it vigorously — a piece of impulsive 
affection which that noble animal bore with characteristie 
meekness, and which Grumps regarded with idiotic 
satisfaction. 


CHAPTER XXVIL 


The Feast at the Block-house. 


T he day of Dick’s arrival with his companions was a 
great day in the annals of the Mustang Valley, and 
Major Hope resolved to celebrate it by an im- 
promptu festival at the old block-house ; for many hearts 
in the valley had been made glad that day, and he knew 
full well that, under such circumstances, some safety- 
valve must be devised for the escape of overflowing ex- 
citement. 

A messenger was sent round to invite the population to 
assemble without delay in front of the block-house. With 
backwood-like celerity the summons was obeyed ; men, 
women, and children hurried towards the central point, 
wondering, yet more than half suspecting, what was the 
major’s object in calling them together. 

They were not long in doubt. The first sight that pre- 
sented itself, as they came trooping up the slope in front 


316 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


of the log-hut, was an ox roasting whole before a gigantic 
bonfire. Tables were being extemporized on the broad 
level plot in front of the gate. Other fires there were, of 
smaller dimensions, on which sundry steaming pots were 
placed, and various joints of wild horse, bear, and venison 
roasted, and sent forth a savoury odour as well as a pleasant 
hissing noise. The inhabitants of the block-house were 
self-taught brewers, and the result of their recent labours 
now stood displayed in a row of goodly casks of beer — the 
only beverage with which the dwellers in these far-off 
regions were wont to regale themselves. 

The whole scene, as the cooks moved actively about upon 
the lawn, and children romped round the fires, and settlers 
came fiocking through the forests, might have recalled the 
revelry of merry England in the olden time, though the 
costumes of the far west were perhaps somewhat different 
from those of old England. 

No one of all the band assembled there on that day of 
rejoicing required to ask what it was all about. Had any 
one been in doubt for a moment, a glance at the centre 
of the crowd assembled round the gate of the western 
fortress would have quickly enlightened him. For there 
stood Dick Varley, and his mild-looking mother, and his 
loving dog Crusoe. There, too, stood Joe Blunt, like a 
bronzed warrior returned from the fight, turning from one 
to another as question poured in upon question almost too, 
rapidly to permit of a reply. There, too, stood Henri, 
making enthusiastic speeches to whoever chose to listen 
to him — now glaring at the crowd with clinched fists and 
growling voice, as he told of how Joe and he had been tied 
hand and foot, and lashed to poles, and buried in leaves, 
and threatened with a slow death by torture ; at other 
times bursting into a hilarious laugh as he held forth on 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


317 


the predicament of Mahtawa, when that wily chief was 
treed by Crusoe in the prairie. 

Young Marston was there, too, hanging about Dick, 
whom he loved as a brother and regarded as a perfect hero. 
Grumps, too, was there, and Fan. Do you think, reader, 
that Grumps looked at any one but Crusoe ? If you do, 
you are mistaken. Grumps on that day became a regular 
an incorrigible, utter, and perfect nuisance to everybody — 
not excepting himself, poor beast. Grumps was a dog of 
one idea, and that idea was Crusoe. Out of that great idea 
there grew one little secondary idea, and that idea was 
that the only joy on earth worth mentioning was to sit on 
his haunches, exactly six inches from Crusoe’s nose, and 
gaze steadfastly into his face. Wherever Crusoe went 
Grumps went. If Crusoe stopped. Grumps was down 
before him in an instant. If Crusoe bounded away, which 
in the exuberance of his spirits he often did. Grumps was 
after him like a bundle of mad hair. He was in everybody’s 
way, in Crusoe’s way, and being, so to speak, “ beside 
himself,” was also in his own way. If people trod upon 
him accidentally, which they often did, Grumps uttered a 
solitary heart-rending yell proportioned in intensity to 
the excruciating nature of the torture he endured, then 
instantly resumed his position and his fascinated stare. 
Crusoe generally held his head up, and gazed over his little 
friend at what was going on around him ; but if for a 
moment he permitted his eye to rest on the countenance of 
Grumps, that creature’s tail became suddenly imbued with 
an amount of wriggling vitality that seemed to threaten 
its separation from the body. 

It was really quite interesting to watch this unblushing 
and disinterested, and utterly reckless display of affection 
on the part of Grumps, and the amiable way in which 


318 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


Crusoe put up with it. We say put up with it advisedly, 
because it must have been a very great inconvenience to 
him, seeing that if he attempted to move, his satellite 
moved in front of him, so that his only way of 
escaping temporarily was by jumping over Grump’s 
head. 

Grumps was everywhere all day. Nobody, almost, 
escaped trampling on part of him. He tumbled over 
everything, into everything, and against everything. He 
knocked himself, singed himself, and scalded himself, and 
in fact forgot himself altogether ; and when, late that 
night, Crusoe went with Dick into his mother’s cottage, 
and the door was shut. Grumps stretched his ruffled, 
battered, ill-used, and dishevelled little body down on the 
door-step, thrust his nose against the opening below the 
door, and lay in humble contentment all night, for he knew 
that Crusoe was there. 

Of course such an occasion could not pass without a 
shooting-match. Rifles were brought out after the feast 
was over, just before the sun went down into its bed on the 
western prairies, and “ the nail ” was soon surrounded by 
bullets, tipped by Joe Blunt and Jim Scraggs, and of course 
driven home by Dick Varley, whose “ silver rifle ” had now 
become in its owner’s hand a never-failing weapon. Races, 
too, were started, and here again Dick stood pre-eminent ; 
and when night spread her dark mantle over the scene, the 
two best fiddlers in the settlement were placed on empty 
beer-casks, and some danced by the light of the monster 
fires, while others listened to Joe Blunt as he recounted 
their adventures on the prairies and among the Rocky 
Mountains. 

There were sweethearts, and wives, and lovers at the 
feast, but we question if any heart there was so full of 


THE DOG CRUSOE. 


319 


love, and admiration, and gratitude, as that of the Widow 
Varley as she watched her son Dick throughout that merry 
evening. 

4c 4c 4: * 

Years rolled by, and the Mustang Valley prospered. 
Missionaries went there, and a little church was built, and 
to the blessings of a fertile land were added the far greater 
blessings of Christian light and knowledge. One sad blow 
fell on the Widow Varley's heart. Her only brother, 
Daniel Hood, was murdered by the Indians. Deeply and 
long she mourned, and it required all Dick’s efforts and 
those of the pastor of the settlement to comfort her. But 
from the first the widow’s heart was sustained by the loving 
Hand that dealt the blow, and when time blunted the keen 
edge of her feelings her face became as sweet and mild, 
though not so lightsome, as before. 

Joe Blunt and Henri became leading men in the council 
of the Mustang Valley ; but Dick Varley preferred the 
woods, although, as long as his mother lived, he hovered 
round her cottage, going off sometimes for a day, sometimes 
for a week, but never longer. After her head was laid in 
the dust, Dick took altogether to the woods, with Crusoe 
and Charlie, the wild horse, as his only companions, and 
his mother’s Bible in the breast of his hunting- 
shirt. And soon Dick, the bold hunter, and his 
dog Crusoe became renowned in the frontier settle- 
ments from the banks of the Yellowstone River to the 
Gulf of Mexico. 

Many a grizzly bear did the famous “ silver rifie ” lay 
low, and many a wild, exciting chase and adventure did 
Dick go through ; but during his occasional visits to the 


320 THE DOG CRUSOE. ^ 

Mustang Valley, he was wont to say to Joe Blunt and 
Henri — with whom he always sojourned — that “ nothin* 
he ever felt or saw came up to his first grand dash over the 
western prairies into the heart of the Rocky Mountains.” 

And in saying this, with enthusiasm in his eye and voice, 
Dick invariably appealed to, and received a ready affirma- 
tive glance from, his early companion and his faithful 
loving friend, the dog Crusoe. 



THE END. 


Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson <5r» Co. 
Edinburgh London 


\ xy) 


1:4 f 


is t* ^ 3|i \^*^) l *' i 5 ^ > * «^ 

|#|4’ . .tfe-‘”:""^i 

V* *f^w^ ^ 







f *..4 ■ ‘'t 

">/ ^ ^ I 




« • 


- • .HS . 7V 

“ f 41^.', '■'.‘iP- 



f ■* 






H, ’.-A7'-'*jt‘;/*.-^*|n , 

>: '.-y'^r^ffi - ; 

-T •,*! 

I - ^ ^ ^ 

.‘f 



r - 7 7, ..^, 

■f ' ^v: 7‘7 \^-: 

° ^ ^ Hr 1 .. ' ^ t ..SAhA 




‘>f? iv. 


9 V ♦ 


,^1 






9 ‘ i. _ 


^rf 


^ !i- ■' 'v; 

'v/l‘ ■■■i,'' 

ffi-* i ? y " 

I fc. • ‘♦-V- ., 


( r4 



a ^ 


•- >A> 


i ^ 

I ■* ^ . I » 

1 *1 » • ’ f ^ ifc* 







V V'** 

' ■ ‘ ? • 1* ’ 

■• . 7 ^ 

. • ■' ■ ;■,' i • ‘ i 3 mI 

‘ • V ►; •-'■* '"’‘“illy!# ‘■jyTiBlii 

■ >. ••' -- 4.7 • .■ '. '^^Hi 

^ i . rTaC^^B 


•, V ». 'frl 

.t?!iui.\. 




h 



y. kv 


V V 


'' ■'’'i 


♦* if ■ 





I • 

t ■ . 

A 

^ ^ f t 


i 

- ♦ 


. . ./ 




g. * 


t 

w 




*x 

I ■ 



1 




